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. I chose somethin' else. And the
reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons
when you've got heroin?

It's shite being Scottish! We're the lowest of the low.
The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched,
miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat
into civilization. Some hate the English. I don't. They're
just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonised
by wankers. Can't even find a decent culture to be
colonised by. We're ruled by effete arseholes. It's a
shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh
air in the world won't make any fucking difference.