Regrets

We Regret These Errors

We Regret These Errors

Sorrowful Remorse

From the Desk of the Enumclaw Horse

From the Desk of Katie Holmes's Fetus

From the Desk of Former Monorail Director Joel Horn

Dept. of Corrections

I Regret Not Killing Benjamin Colton Barnes Before He Got to That Park Ranger

I Regret Those Girls in Roslyn

I Regret Republicans Giving Me a Bad Name

I Regret That Señor Romney Lost the Election

We Regret These Errors.

We Regret These Erors

From the Desk of Michael Jackson

I Regret Being Consigned to Eternal Damnation with the Guy Who Drew The Family Circus

We Regret Mentioning Suicide, Publishing Essays about Suicide, and Placing Visual Depictions of Suicide on Our Cover

I Regret Nothing

From the Desk of J. Edgar Hoover

We Wish to Announce Several Regrets (We Wish to Announce Several Regrets)

What You Think About When You Think About Chile

I Regret What's Happening to This City

That Sculpture Is a Stain on Our Reputation

I Regret Not Being Considered Food and Offer, for Your Enjoyment, This Recipe

A Guide to the Jokes in This Issue for the Staff of Gawker

Please Allow Me to Set the Record Straight

I Regret Rehab

I Regret that Pit Bulls Find My Face So Delicious

I Regret Macklemore's Tweets

I Regret Killing All-Ages Music

We Regret We’re So Dumb

Hey, I almost never regret anything, because I pretty much run this place. But this year, I have a big, fat, wet, glistening tumor of a regret. I should have taken Lance Armstrong instead of all those other people I killed this year. What a malignancy that guy turned out to be. Meanwhile, your grandmother? Nice lady, lovely-smelling. That kid down the street who expired slowly and horribly and humiliatingly of testicular lumps? Sweet little guy. Donna Summer? Etta James? Robin Gibb? Nora Ephron? Sally Ride? David Rakoff? I took all those sods and left Lance. What the fuck was I thinking? Even I'm not that much of an asshole. Lance would have been worthy of the pain I could have inflicted. I could have brought about the anti-dopiest of anti-doping effects, all the way into his very bones. I should have dogged him like he dogged those riders, treating them like his abused children, forcing them to do things and keep quiet. Mobster! Well, 2013 is another year, Lance. And I never get tired. Livestrong my cancerous ass. recommended