You've got to ayordalize more.

As I'm walking down the street one night, I'm ganged up by... a gang. Of kids. Punk Kids.

They called themselves the Punk Kids Gang.

They form a circle around me. The head kid walks up and wields his switchblade menacingly at me.
"Your money or your life," he demanded.

"Very well," I said. "Here you go." I then proceeded to tell him that I was born to a nice Christian family. We weren't rich in money, but we were rich in love.
I continued through my child and teen years, picking through every mistake and interesting anecdote I produced in my life. The first time I found out about snakes, my first playground fight, the zits, when I first noticed that cutie in the front row, everything.

When I eventually came to the end of my life story, every one of the punk kids were in tears.
"Thank you, sir," said the head kid, fighting back his tears. "Here's five bucks for your trouble."

The moral of the story is that when you think your life can't get any lower, punk kids feel sorry for you.