Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.

Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines,

cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers.

Choose leisurewear and matching luggage.

Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.

Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.

Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing,

spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.

Choose rotting away at the end of it all,

pishing your last in a miserable home,

nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future. Choose life.



I chose not to choose life: I chose something else.