Okay, the following paragraphs will be a life story. If you reply about it's size, go eat a dick.

I am fucking sick and tired about your pathetic lives. I live in Beverly Hills. My parents make over $300,000 a year combined. I go to Beverly Hills High School, one of the best public schools in the country. I am physically fit. But do you think I started this way? Do you think my parents did? NO! We worked for what we have, and you people bitch and moan about the problems of your life, as if you not being able to get lid or find a job is anybody else's fault.

I was born in a small house in Beno, Nevada, with my parents. My grandfather had died years ago, leaving a will asking us to keep her wife alive as long as possible. Four months after he died, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. At her age, terminal.

We had nearly all of our measly income to keep her on life support. This lasted nearly a year. A year of barely getting enough food to survive. A year of living of the charities of our friends. And throughout this time, I was a weak nerd who had no friends and got poor grades.

After our grandmother died, we tried to focus on improving our shitty lives. We lived in a bad neighborhood, populated with hobos and wiggers. One fateful day, my older brother went out on a drive. He accidentaly got in a minor accident with a meber of a local gang. The resulting fight ended in the death of my brother.

About two months later, we moved to the suburbs of Las Vegas. It was a minor improvement, but our lifestyle was still very rough. We were still very poor, and could barely make a living. My father took up a job as a bodyguard. For several weeks, he made enough to feed us well. After that, he fell down a stairwell while chasing a man who cheated in a high-stakes poker game. His job as a security guard was finished.

I spent my time fghting off the children of people who were enemies of the people my dad had worked for. They did seemingly nothing but throw rocks at our house and wreck our one car. My one friend in the town was killed by a member of the 'Endros' gang. I didn't drink, or smoke, or consider suicide. I stayed on track.

My friend's death motivated me to be better than I was. My grades started picking up. I began exercising. I got contacts. Eventually, I egan to become popular. Intimidating. Our house was vandalized less and less. No longer was our car destroyed. My father got a job as a blackjack dealer.

I was hired by a crazy woman whos deceased husband owned a small casino. Sufficed to say, she had money. My job was basically that of a guard's- she wanted to make sure kids didn't disturb her. No vandalizing, no loud noises, no swearing near her house. The job payed about $10 an hour, but it kept me very busy. I lost popularity, as kids didn't like me hushing them every time they swore.

One day, my father made a risky decision and bet three week's pay on a game of poker. He won. With our newfound money, we set off to Beverly Hills. From this point on, our financial situation was stable, so I'll talk about my social life.

I was always berated in my school. I was the only one who hadn't been raised in a classy upbringing. I was bullied and occationally attacked. One day I said, "Fuck this". I started REALLY exercising. I put my mind to the test. My grades picked up. I got to be very fit.

So there you go. I havn't had a horrible life, but it was a tough one. I'm just sick of hearing people bitch because they lost a relative or two. I lost a brother and a friend. I stayed strong. I regret nothing. So if you want to complain about trivial matters, then complain. Just become emo. It'll make it easier to find you in a crowd. Black clothes=that kid who won't shut the fuck up about his dead friend.

Good night.