Choose Life.

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 leisurewear and matching luggage.
Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on 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, pissing your last in a miserable home,
nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish,
fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves.

Choose your future. Choose life...
But why would I want to do a thing like that?
I chose not to choose life.

/ Trainspotting 1996