Choose no life. Choose no career. Choose no family.
Choose a fucking big computer, choose disks arrays
the size of washing machines, modem racks, CD ROM
writers, and electrical coffee makers. Choose no sleep,
high caffeine and mental insurance. Choose no friends.
Choose black jeans and matching combat boots. Choose
chairs for your office in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose SMTP and wondering why the fuck you are
logged on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting
in that swivel chair looking at mind-numbing, spirit-crushing
web sites, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your
last in some miserable newsgroup, nothing more than
an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up lusers
Gates spawned to replace the computer-literate.
Choose your future