Did I ever tell you how lucky you are? When I was quite young and quite small for my size, I met an old man in the Desert of Drize. And he sang me a song I will never forget, At least, well, I haven’t forgotten it yet. He sat in a terribly prickly place. But he sang with a sunny sweet smile on his face: When you think things are bad, when you feel sour and blue, when you start to get mad… You should do what I do! Just tell yourself, Duckie, you’re really quite lucky! Some people are much more… Oh, ever so much more… Oh, muchly much-much more Unlucky than you! Be glad you don’t work on the Bunglebung Bridge that they’re building across Boober Bay at Bumm Ridge. It’s a troublesome world. All the people who’re in it are troubled with troubles almost every minute. You ought to be thank, a whole heaping lot, for the places and people, you’re lucky you’re not. Just suppose for a second you lived in Ga-Zayt and got caught in that traffic on Zayt Highway Eight! Or suppose, just for an instance, you lived in Ga-Zair, with your bedroom up here and your bathroom up THERE! Suppose, just suppose, you were poor Herbie Hart, who has taken his Throm-dim-bu-lator apart! He never will get it together, I’m sure, He never will know if the Gick or the Goor fits into the Skrux or the Snux or the Snoor. Yes, Duckie, you’re lucky you’re not Herbie Hart, who has taken his Throm-dim-bu-lator apart! Think they work you too hard…? Think of poor Ali Sard! He has to mow grass in his uncle’s backyard and it’s quick-growing grass and it grows as he mows it. The fast he mows it, the faster he grows it. And all that his stingy old uncle will pay for his shoving that mower around in that hay is the piffulous pay of two Dooklas a day. And Ali can’t live on such piffulous pay! He has to paint flagpoles on Sundays in Grooz. How lucky you are you don’t live in his shoes! And poor Mr. Bix! Every morning at six, poor Mr.Bix has his Borfin to fix! It