If you're a struggling comedian living in a skid row hotel on Detroit's east side,

and you're thinking of a career change, or perhaps applying to Harvard,

you'll want help with your personal statement.

So try the latest thing in artificial intelligence.

Jive GPT. It'll have you speaking the King's English in no time.

I grew up in a house so fucked up.

Instead of my mama teaching me the ABCs, she showed me how to slang PCP.

Mine was a difficult childhood.

It was at once the best of times and the worst of times.

We were so fucking broke that when I was a kid, my mama had to put shit on lay away.

At the dollar store.

She didn't even like me much neither.

From the time I popped out of her Gucci, she wouldn't let me suck on her titties.

Talking about, let's just be friends.

Mother dear has struggled, but even during those dreary evenings,

when there was but scant a thimble of milk.

Mumsy quenched our hunger with a warm and friendly approbation.

It be what it be.

We was broke as a joke, but I always had little homies sweeping with me.

No matter how many times this year put us out the house.

Every kid we moved to either had rats, roaches, or bare buds.

And shit, sometimes all three.

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