Do I regret it? Is that really what you're asking me?
Let me answer your question by asking you a series of largely unrelated questions of my own: Does an alpha wolf regret killing its prey to feed its wolf pack? Does a manatee regret looking like an overweight dolphin? Do anteaters regret doing whatever the hell it is they do all day? I wanna say eat ants, but I'm not positive. The answer to all three, of course, is no. They don't regret it for a second, because these are all just facts of life.
I believe it was Kierkegaard who once said: “There are two possible situations: one can either do this or that. Whichever path you choose, you will regret it. So we might as well get fucked up on my stepmom's prescription cough syrup and chuck rocks off the freeway overpass.” That was my childhood buddy Donny Kierkegaard. Guy was kinda messed up, to be honest. Last I heard he was in prison for aggravated assault.
If I'm not mistaken, the word “regret” comes from the Latin regreten, which means “to gather grain for harvest, typically with the use of a scythe or sickle.” So when you think about it that way, regret doesn't even mean what we think it means. Come to think of it, I might be mixing up the definition of regret with “reap.” Sorry, I just bought the “Q-R” volume of an Encyclopedia set at my local thrift store. Did you know that a quail can lay up to 20 eggs at a time? Crazy! Also, did you know that the guy who throws the football in a game of American rules football is called the “quarterback?”
The point is, there's no use dwelling on the past since there's nothing you can do to change it. Would I love to be able to go back and undo the “immeasurable psychological trauma” that I caused with my harmful, yet undeniably hilarious, prank that ill-fated Wednesday afternoon? I don't know, I guess. Maybe if I had the time, but my schedule's honestly pretty slammed right now with my fantasy baseball league.
Even if you wanted to go back in time and your fantasy baseball schedule permitted it, you couldn't. Unless someone develops a time machine, in which case I would use it to go back in time and kill baby Midler. No, I don't mean baby Hitler. I mean Midler, as in Bette Midler. Why? Because I had nightmares for three months straight after seeing Hocus Pocus last Halloween.
Anyway, what were we talking about again? Oh, right! To answer your question: Yes, I do deeply regret pulling up to that church on Ash Wednesday as mass was letting out, sticking my bare butt out the window of my car, and yelling, “Did someone say ASS Wednesday?” No question. You could even say it's the single greatest regret of my life, and I've accidentally burned down three houses, two of which were my own. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to know you could end up on the sex offender registry for something like that?
But I like to think that I've learned my lesson, which is to always make sure that you don't get stuck at a red light mere seconds after exposing your bare bottom to unsuspecting —and in some cases underaged—parishioners, giving them ample opportunity to write down your license plate number and report you to the police. I won't make that mistake again, believe you me!
Say, how'd you even find out about that in the first place? Oh, you didn't. You were just asking me for three dollars? Because this is a tollbooth? And I'm holding up traffic? Huh, is that what all that honking noise was? Anyway, I don't have the money, so I'm gonna have to pull a quick U-ie here.