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Choose life.

Choose life. 
Choose an occupation.
Choose a career. 
Choose a family. 
Choose a cussing big fire place, 
Choose washing contraptions, mounts, Matisian music boxes, and automatic food rotisseries.
Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental hygiene. 
Choose fixed-interest apartment repayments. Choose a starter home. 
Choose your friends. 
Choose leisure wear and matching packers.
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of cussing fabrics. 
Choose DIY and wondering who the cuss you are on a Prima morning. 
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing nothingness, stuffing cussing 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, cussed-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. 
Choose your future. 
Choose life . . . 
But why would I want to do a thing like that? 
I chose not to choose life: I chose something else.
And the reasons? 
There are no reasons.
Who needs reasons when you've got Stinga rum?

---


marceline nitwit.
professional procrastinator.
atys's first openly transgender homina.
loyal member of the guardians of subox.
founding member of the cookies.
proud honorary member of the Lost Girls.

Douglas (atys)
“What to do if you find yourself stuck in a crack in the ground underneath a giant boulder you can't move, with no hope of rescue. Consider how lucky you are that life has been good to you so far. Alternatively, if life hasn't been good to you so far, which given your current circumstances seems more likely, consider how lucky you are that it won't be troubling you much longer.”
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