Choose life.
Choose a job.
Choose a career.
Choose a family.
Choose a f*cking 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 f*cking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on the couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f*cking 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, f*cked-up brats you’ve spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.

It’s hard to camouflage
when you’re living this large.
Seahorses, forevea.

Mystery Box

This is a mystery box.
I dare you to click on it.

Raptor Rumblings

I’m kinda buzzed and it’s all because.

This is how I do it, put my little raptor arms into it.

Rumblings rumblin’ real soon.
Lighthouses rule.