Note: If you've not seen Trainspotting, then you won't get this at all. Sorry. For the rest of us, this is a classic someone posted on SlashDot...

Choose Life. Choose a Master. Choose a Lightsaber. Choose a Clone Army. Choose a fucking big holo-projector, choose sonic showers, land-speeders, and electrical R2-D2 openers. Choose good health, low midichlorians, and blaster insurance. Choose fixed interest moisture farm repayments. Choose a starter smuggling ship. Choose your Jedi. Choose robes and matching sandals. Choose a three-piece body armor on hire purchase in a range of fucking alloys. Choose sitting on that Bantha-hide chair and watching mind-numbing, chain-choking slave girls, stuffing fucking slimy worms into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the belly of the Sarlacc, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up apprentices you spawned to kill all your brethren and take over the galaxy.