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

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

I Regret Not Taking Out Lance Armstrong

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

You sons of bitches, I work hard every day. I work hard polishing cars in Señor Romney's garage, sweeping floor, rotating tires. I rotate the tires of every car in the garage every day, on Señor Romney's orders. And what I wanna know is: Why you wanna make more work for Ricardo Ortiz by voting for Barack Obama? I was looking at four, maybe eight, years where Señor Romney was gonna be El Presidente out in Washington, DC, coming back to La Jolla one, maybe two, times a year. There was gonna be peace and quiet for me.

Now, Señor Romney is here all the time, and he needs all his cars all the time. "Ramon," he says. "It's such a gorgeous day, I think I'll take the Benz out to Boston Market for lunch." Down comes the Benz, up goes the Ferrari. Then he comes back, and he says to me, "Garcia, could you bring down the minivan? Ann says it's time for a Costco run." Up goes the Benz, down comes the Toyota Sienna. And sometimes, Señor Romney, he just sits in the backseat of the Buick and says, "Give me a ride on the elevator, Julio. One more time." And up and down, up and down, up and down we go, and Señor Romney, he just sits there in the backseat and he just sobs and sobs until he falls asleep. You sons of bitches. recommended