I choose the vomit. One minute of disgust and humiliation is better than four years in an authoritarian hellscape that would make both Ray Bradbury and George Orwell drag their hairy, sweaty "I told you so" across the world's face.
I'm grabbing my vomit spoon. Not even a hard choice really. One is warm gushy mash of putrid acidic projectile upheaval... The other is someone's fresh puke.
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