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 good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.
Choose
fixed-interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home.
Choose your
friends.
Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.
Choose a three piece suite on
hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering
who 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.
.
.
.
.
.
