You’ve done some stupid shit, I’ve done some stupid shit, we’ve all done some stupid shit.  And we all live to regret some of it.

 

Colored prescription lenses.  Fuck you, Bono.  Just look at his fucking stupid doucheface.  Because of this fuckhead, everyone in the early 2000s seemed to aspire to look like a colossal douchebag.  Half my friends were sporting a pair of prescription glasses with colored lenses.  “Don’t mind me while I deliberately make everything I look at blue!  I don’t even need Viagra to make everything look blue!”  And the brilliant thing is almost all of them tossed out their stupid glasses after about a week.  Because it’s fucking stupid to walk around with colored lenses.

 

MiniDisc player.  I bought one of these fucking things while living in the U.K.  I really thought it was a clever idea at the time.  Fucking paid top dollar (or quid in this case) for it, too.  “Look at me, Mr. Cutting Edge!  Fuck portable CD players!”  This was BIP (before iPods).  How the fuck did the MiniDisc player ever work for anyone?  They had the capacity of newborn’s bladder.  They had the battery life of about 2 minutes.  They were heavy as shit.  And I can’t even remember how I got my music onto the MiniDiscs.  But because I paid a shitload of money for it, I still have the fucking player today… and all the MiniDiscs I made. Clutter classic.  What a pointless piece of shit that was.  If you owned one of these pieces of shit, you’d be filled with regret, too, I’ll bet.  Even the Japanese, the only remaining MiniDisc market in the world, have given up.

 

Tramp stamp and you’re a dude.  Nice going, bro.  This was one of my highlights this past summer.  It brought me an immeasurable amount of joy seeing these 30-something/40-year old douchebags by the pool, sporting really shitty tramp stamps.   You know even though these shitheads can’t see their stupid tats every day, the fact that it’s sitting in the small of their back has got to be gnawing away at their tiny brains.  BWAHAHAHAHAH, fuckers.

But here I am, inkless and I’ve been mulling over it for the better part of a dozen years.  I never got any ink because I live in fear that I’d regret the design one day.  Yet, over the course of the dozen years or so, I’ve been unwavering in the design I’ve chosen in my head or where I’d want to put the ink.  So what the fuck was I worried about?  But it’s too late now.  I think getting ink for the first time in your mid-30s is a bullshit move.  If I didn’t have the balls to do it in my 20s, I have no fucking business getting ink in my 30s.  It’s screams of Harrison Ford’s retarded earring.  Too fucking late, move the fuck on.  My regret now is not getting ink when I had a chance.

 

Burberry coat.  This is another thing that fills me with regret.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  Years ago, I bought a Burberry coat.  Nothing over the top, just a grey coat with the tell-tale plaid lining.  A proper dignified article of clothing, right?   Sure, for about a week, before I realized that Burberry is out and out chav-wear!  I look at that chavtastic brown plaid and I wanna puke now.  But… because of what I spent on the stupid coat, I can’t bear to give it away.  And I wouldn’t wear any of this Burberry shit if my life depended on it.  I buy some really stupid things sometimes.