First and foremost, I regret being made the target of a prosecutorial witch hunt and the subject of vile slander by evil people who only want to bring a successful black man down and who wouldn't understand the true meaning of love if it bit them in their big, mean butts.
I do not regret wearing pajamas to court, but I do regret wearing those pajamas. The ones I wanted to wear have footies in them, but there was blood on the front.
I do not regret writing "In the Closet," "(Have You Seen My) Childhood," "Off the Wall," "Black or White," and "(I Want That) Hot Toddler," despite these beautiful pop songs being deliberately misconstrued and misinterpreted by those who seek to bring down a successful black man and wouldn't know love if it bit them on their big, mean butts.
I do regret wasting so much high-vintage Châteauneuf du Pape on the immature taste buds of ungrateful youngsters.
I do not regret wearing a form-fitting Lycra body stocking to my play date with dozens of underprivileged children at a Bahraini water park. However, I do regret wearing that form-fitting Lycra body stocking. The one I wanted to wear was pink, not white, but it had blood on the front.
Most of all, I regret the loss of my two great loves, Ms. Lisa Marie Presley and Ms. Debbie Rowe, two beautiful women who graced me with their precious love, and upon whose netherloins I repeatedly feasted, my attorney tells me.