Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a #*$&ing big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of #*$&ing fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the #*$& you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing #*$&ing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, (%*$ing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, #*$&ed 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. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
I claim to have learned a lot from movies. This one, in particular, taught me to never, ever, under any circumstances, use heroin (no matter how wonderful it sounds) because zombie ghost babies will crawl across your ceiling and taunt you.
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