Now and then I may complain about the rain during our Dark Ages, but our rains don't come like this:
It kills you.
It destroys your crops and starves you to death. It gives you typhoid fever and dysentery and liver fluke. It rips your nipa house apart and scatters your life across the wreckage of your fields.
There are reasons to complain about living in the United States. Don't get me wrong. Those of us not in the two-yacht families get reamed pretty hard sometimes.