Choose to sysadmin
Choose no life. Choose no career.

Choose no family.

Choose a fuc*ing big computer,

Choose disk arrays the size of washing machines, modem racks, CD-ROM writers, and electrical cofee makers.

Choose no sleep, high caffeine and mental insurance.

Choose black jeans and matching combat boots.

Choose chairs for your use in a range of fuc*ing fabrics.

Choose SMTP and wondering why the fuc* you are logged on a Sunday morning.

Choose sitting in that swivel chair looking at mind-numbing, spirit-crushing websites, stuffing fuc*ing 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. fuc*ed up lusers Gates spawned to replace the computer literate.

Choose your future.
Choose to sysadmin.