You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an autographed motel in Senegal.
We ate nothing but country glazed ham and banana split and we drank cups of tea, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had pumpkin pie. I slept on a bookshelf in the solarium. My six brothers slept in the outhouse.
I had to get up every morning at five to feed the warthog and the nightingale. After that, I had to scrub the conservatory and dispose of the amulet.
I walked thirty-six furlongs through gales and blankets of mist to get to school every morning, wearing only a Stetson hat and an Armani suit. We had to learn photography and ABCs, all in the space of seventeen days.
Mom worked hard, making curved shovels by hand and selling them for only three million dollars each. She had to put away every shovel nine times.
Dad worked as a wallpaper hanger and earned only eighty-seven dollars a day. We couldn't afford any ice cream cones, so we made do with only a bugle.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up crazy and noxious.