Sending My Regrets

ImageI read a blog today.  Well I skimmed it.  Like so much in life it promised much and delivered so little. It was on regrets, specifically it was the top 5 regrets of the dying.  It smacked of bullshit, the kind of excremental intellectual drippings of a self-absorbed author bereft of any editing.  Can we even call bloggers authors?  They all seem to be second-income washouts from teaching, the great unpublished wretches that refuse to take no for an answer when no is the only sensible reaction to their dribble. Failed novelists and people too lazy to write an unwatchable screen play.  But I digress.  The list was purportedly compiled by a nurse of some sort (makes sense, I mean nurses and serial killers are the only ones likely to spend that much time listening to people whining on their deathbeds.  Sure the doctors and hospice workers are there but its not like they give two shits about what is vexing the about to be dead.) but like I said, it sounded like pure fabrication. A sure give away is that nobody ever said, I regret having unprotected sex with that Haitian hooker because that’s why I’m fucking dying.

At any rate it got the old Right Reverend to thinking about regrets.  I don’t really have a bunch so I will limit mine to five.

  1. Not slapping more people. Now I know its gonna sound a bit weird but I wish I had slapped more people.   I would have very much liked to have slapped the Fox executives who decided to reinstate the Family Guy after having cancelled it.  I wish I would have slapped anyone who had ever used the term “bucket list. And I would really like to slap the person who wrote the blog about regrets—true or bullshit—I think a good slap would have done the “author’ some good. I could go on and on (as I imagine you reading this I really feel like slapping you; I recognize that this is unfair and somewhat unwarranted but I think a slap might do us both some good.0
  2. Not hitting on more women. Let’s be clear this isn’t about sex I get bored with women long before our relationship gets physical.  I just think I would have enjoyed life had I hit on more women (not beat them mind you, rather obnoxiously pursued women) I most certainly would have had more fun and dating success if I had grown a pair and asked women out sooner—generally speaking by the time I screwed up the courage to ask a woman out she was already sick of me and truth be told I was generally sick of her as well.
  3. Going to See the Movie Titanic. I will spare you the frothy out powering of hatred that I have for the farce that James Cameron calls a film.  And before you get all indignant and say “what is WRONG with Titanic?” or “I happen to like Titanic” you better reread regret one four or five times. Uhg.
  4. Not Joining the Boy Scouts. The scouts always appealed to me. Not in the creepy camping alone with a scoutmaster way, but in the dress like a Hitler Youth carry a knife and a hatchet sense.  When you think about it the Boy Scout is basic serial killer training—they teach you to tie knots and then give you a hatchet, a compass, a knife and a working knowledge of the woods; hell, I’m pretty sure they teach you how to dig a shallow grave.  Not that there’s any danger of me becoming a serial killer, I am way too lazy and…well see regret 2.  But where do reporters get off criticizing serial killers for not digging the grave deep enough? when was the last time you heard an account of a murder where the reporter described the body as being found in a well dug grave? You figure the poor crazy sonofabitch just murdered someone, stuffed the body in the trunk, drove out to a remote area and dug a hole (by anyone’s reckoning a full fucking day) only to have some blown dry guy in a bad polyester suit poo-poo his grave digging skills. But I didn’t want to sleep on the ground and the potential for teasing when I made weebalo was too great. I didn;’t need that shit.
  5. Not knocking my cousin’s teeth out for pushing me into the wall and busting my two front teeth.  My cousin and I had been fighting in the basement and after I gave him a sound trouncing I made the mistake of turning my back on the little twink who pushed me into the wall.  I lied to my parents about what happened (I told them that I fell running up the steps) so he wouldn’t get in trouble.  Years later I broke his nose and he snitched so fast that I felt like breaking it again. (I kind of regret not doing so). I ended up wearing stainless steel caps on both front teeth for the next four years and  I’ve gone out of pocket about $4 grand so far in replacement so I have ample reason for bearing the grudge.

So there they are, my regrets.  Don’t go looking for me to whine on my death bed that I wish I didn’t  work so hard (I practically invented lazy), or that I had stayed in touch with my friends (my number is listed) or anything like that.  Frankly I think people were just sucking up to the angel of death and they really regretted not living longer.


2 Responses

  1. Please share the frothy hatred regarding ‘Titanic’. I loved that movie like almost no other. I think of the old couple in bed that didn’t even try to survive when I need a good cry.

    But I’m with you about the uncalled for criticism of a killer’s gravedigging skills and what have you. I understand about not wanting to give a killer credit for anythng, but so often the mainstream look like idiots if you take them at their word that they actually believe their lines about the attributes of killers in areas having nothing to do with why they oppose them. The talking heads are idiots if they are honest, and dishonest if they know what they’re doing. If you’ve never harmed anyone and are idealistically against idiocy and dishonesty, and on one side you have somebody who did their best under circumstances you don’t understand, while on the other you have a fellow taking potshots, stuff like that can make the idealist join the *true* Good Guys.

  2. […] Sending My Regrets […]

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