Choose life. Choose the force. Choose the Rebel Alliance. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big battlecruiser. Choose R2 units with hologram players and electrical door openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and Jedi mind tricks. Choose fixed interest Jabba repayments. Choose a home planet. Choose your allies. Choose tupperware and matching aunties. Choose a light sabre on hire purchase in a range of fucking colours. Choose farming and wondering who the fuck you are as the suns are setting. Choose sitting watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing musical numbers, stuffing fucking frogs in your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a shiny black mask, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose the future. Choose life.
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