What I Regret

I‘m—I’m sorry for telling the man from the TV I went in the balloon when really I wasn’t in the balloon, but my daddy said it was for a show. I know the people were mad, because they thought I was in the balloon and really I wasn’t in the balloon but my daddy said if I didn’t say I went in the balloon then there wouldn’t be Christmas because daddy can’t have a job because he’s too tired, and—HUUUUUUUUUUUURRRGHGHGLGLGLGLLLLGH!!!! HUHGGH! HRRRRRGHLRRLRHGHGH. Hhh. GLURP. And I’m sorry I told the old lady from church that I needed her jewelry for my mommy’s leukemia, it’s just that daddy told me it was for a show, and if I didn’t then I would get leukemia and the puppy would too, and then daddy would have to put both of us to sleep because “chemotherapy is for closers.” And I didn’t want to go to sleep! And, and… BLUH-BLUH-BLUUUUUNNNNNNGGGGGGG
HHHHHHRGLRGLRGURGLRG!!! I’m sorry—BLUT—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I keep throwing up. And I’m sorry I seduced that unsuspecting widow into investing all her life savings in the Nigerian lottery. There never was any gold bullion, and there is no Colonel Motumbo. (But I really do love you, Maxine.) It’s just that my daddy said it was for a show, and if I didn’t get the nice lady’s money, he was going to sell me into something called “white slavery” in Belarus, because “Papa’s gotta eat,” and I didn’t—I didn’t—I—Oh, god—HUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGRRRHGRUH-GRUH-GLORP-BLAAAAAAAAAANNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HUUUUUURGH! GNUUUUUNNNNGGGGG!!! GLURP. NGH. GUH.