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 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

I suppose your feeble, racist American minds expect me to greet you with a defiant, bellowed "Allahu Akbar." Not anymore. I did not wake up to the afterlife I was expecting. Instead I woke up in a squarish office-looking room with windows looking out on a few humble lakes of fire in the distance. The tedium—even worse than being confined to a mansion in Pakistan—was only temporarily relieved when my buddy Muammar showed up, and we got to play hacky sack and swap pornography. But then this American dipshit Bil Keane arrived! He invented The Family Circus comic strip, and all he does is blather on about cute things his children did. "Who broke that lamp?" Bil will say, waiting for Mo and me to play along. Then he'll shout the punch line: "Not me!"

Do you get it? I don't get it.

This dumb asshole might be tolerable for an afternoon. A week, if you're a masochist. But all of eternity? Just because I coordinated four little hijackings? I keep pleading for him to be transferred to Adolf and L. Ron's room because he just... won't... shut... up with the heartwarming anecdotes about children who say "pasghetti" instead of "spaghetti." Jesus fucking Christ, help a Yemeni Kindite out: Can somebody get President Obama to kill me a second time? recommended