Happy with no teeth.

I'd rather starve than have to beg.
But I can never complain, or so they say. I owe you for all the cold, obliged money that you threw my way all these years without ever caring to ask me where it was going. The only thing constant you ever offered, besides that monthly fee that was your ball-and-chain, were your pointless demands.
I could sit here and talk about each time that you made me feel like a beggar, envious of your fortunes, but that would take way too long and wouldn't do any good.

Oh no, I'm not complaining. I've never been so satisfied to be broke.