Choose a d.o.b. Choose arrears. Choose an e.b.t. Choose to not pay the facepainter. Choose a moonbeam. Choose liquidation. Choose the masons. Choose a billionaire. Choose two shirts. Choose magic hats. Choose brown brogues of dignity. Choose Walter. Choose Ally. Choose a seven hundred million stadium. Choose a broken Manchester t.v. Choose xxxl. Choose a boycott. Choose a journey. Choose making friends on the way. Choose nobody likes us we don't care. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing ramsdens cup finals. Choose a lodge. Choose bomber brown pissed and psychotic. Choose the red-arrows fly over. Choose apartheid. Choose the club. Choose the company. Choose up to our knees in fenian blood. Choose listed building. Choose God save the Queen. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, passing your last tenants super-lager away. At the end of it all in a miserable orange walk, nothing more than an embarrassment of the sash your father wore and the selfish, ****ed up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got the Rangers...
