Choose life, choose a job, choose a career, choose a family, choose fucking big television, choose washing machine, choose cars, choose compact disc players, choose electrical tin openers, choose good health, choose low cholesterol, and dental insurance, choose fixed-interest mortgage payments, 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 D.I.Y. and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning, sitting on the couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth, choose rotting away at the end of it all, choose pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish fucked-up brats that you’ve spawned to replace yourself.
