No reliable or repeatable observations in an age where subatomic particles and brain activity can be observed. Nothing vaguely similar can be created in a lab. No derivation of existing, established theories that suggests them. No hypothesis about the physical forces that sustain or drive them. The only consistent hypothesis about them, being the dead with unfinished business, is contradicted by their absence near traffic accident black spots.
More likely to be hangover, brain structure used by pre-historic man that needed to predict motives of unknown movement with little data and collective mythology. This is the same reason that succubi were replaced by alien abductions.
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking 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 DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking 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, fucked 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 somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
- Mark Renton, Trainspotting.