Choose life; choose a job; choose a career; choose a family; choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disk 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 DIY and wondering who the fuck u are on sunday morning; choose sitting on the coach 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 amiserable home nothing more than an embarassement to the selfish, fucked-up brats you spawned to replace yourself; choose your future; choose life.

Everybody loves to organize their life. They love their life, even if it’s a storage of shit. Even if they say they’d want to die. They don’t really want to die, they love to say it, but they want to live.

Until they die.

When it comes, it’s always too late to decide how to fix it. The problem.

The solution.