"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 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 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 spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?"
I'm choosing something better. I choose high cholesterol in a dank little office with halogen lighting downing coffee as if it were junk. I choose giving the best years of my life to a career, living alone in a high rise looking at heaps of painted plastic praise. I choose being noted on the street by people who are for all accounts faceless, living pointless existances of their own. I choose not being appreciated until after my death, which comes all too soon. I choose sex and not marriage, ridding myself of the possibility to ruin the future with offspring and feeling somewhat gratified as I catch a taxi out of...whoever's bed. I choose material possesions, and circling parties held by the horrifying ugly 'beautiful people'. I choose hating chick flicks almost as much as i hate the parents they come to depicting to me. I choose men's suits, making eyes at old married men whose wedding ring comes off easier than their shoes, and any other taboo of what's good for the cock isn't good for the cunt. I choose burning out and not fading away. I'm choosing something better.