You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a delicate treehouse in Paraguay.
We ate nothing but catfish stew and doughnuts and we drank bottles of Gatorade, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had fried chicken. I slept on a carpet in the dungeon. My eleven brothers slept in the game room.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the bird and the hippopotamus. After that, I had to scrub the workshop and kiss the blank check.
I walked thirty-one miles through earthquakes and downpours to get to school every morning, wearing only a tool belt and a mask. We had to learn theology and bricklaying, all in the space of five eternities.
Mom worked hard, making torn tablet computers by hand and selling them for only twenty-four crowns each. She had to banish every tablet computer twenty times.
Dad worked as a butler and earned only ninety-eight million dollars a day. We couldn't afford any billiard balls, so we made do with only a pink flamingo.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up weary and young.