by Joe Buonfiglio

Guilt. Shame. Regrets. Ice cream brain-freeze. These are all things we have felt as individuals and as a collective society en masse. Most would concede that they tend to do us more harm than good. As for guilt, shame and brain freeze, I can offer no redeeming quality or value whatsoever in these. However, I believe that if we can publicly expose the source of our consternation that leads to regret in our lives, there is always a chance that we can defeat this monster emotion before that trip down the mortal coil reaches the finish line and it is too late.

Therefore, with this in mind, I give you…



Come on, admit it; Jell-O shots feel great sliding down the back of your throat. It’s as if an oyster laced with happy-time juice that can make you the life of the party. They’re silly and serious at the same time; how many opportunities in your life do you get to experience such a confusingly wonderful sensation as that?

Besides, what other activities can you engage in that are not only fun, but may potentially lead to a “false positive” that you are bleeding out of your ass?


Sure, this cold Spanish soup is a delicious summertime treat, but the real reason I wish I had consumed more of it in my life is that it looks as if an alien creature from Star Trek (the original, not Next Generation).

Okay, it’s possibly more akin to a comparably weird encounter from the show of which must not be mentioned by name (AKA Voyager); definitely not DS9 though. You might be able to talk me into a thing from Enterprise with Scott Bakula, but only if you can work through the issues with the more primitive technological nature of this prequel’s—

I’m sorry, what was I talking about?

Regretting not eating enough cold soup?

That makes no sense. Who the hell likes cold soup?


Yes, I wish I had terminated the lives of more spiders. Oh, please. Don’t give me that “All God’s creatures are beautiful!” bullshit. That fuckin’ pig should have ripped that bitch Charlotte down from that nasty web and stomped her good and you know it. Put on your muddy hiking boots for the first time after they’ve been sitting out in the garage for a few weeks, and then tell me how you still want to defend those ghastly arachnids after your big toe encounters the sleeping black widow that has taken up residence there.


I hate spiders.


God, I do wish I had put back more vodka martinis in my youth. No, I don’t have 007 delusions; I’m more the Bond villain type than an agent with MI6. However, unfortunately, during the swilling-beer period that is the hallmark of one’s youth, martinis aren’t even a consideration. It’s not until you reach a certain age — and a level of steady employment — that one feels compelled to sample from more sophisticated wells.

Fuck it. Give me a Pabst, bartender.

No, NOT a goddamn PBR, you prissy sumbitch!

And now, drumroll please…


You thought I was going to say “more sex,” didn’t you? I’m a guy, so sex has to be the numero uno on my list, right? Sorry, but I don’t want to be that damn predictable … and that’s my point.

I wish I had done more “on the fly,” “out of the blue,” completely unplanned and spontaneous acts as if on some sort of hair-trigger impulse drive. No, it didn’t have to be on the level of stripping down and running naked through Disneyland with an Ariel sock puppet strategically placed over my willy. However, it should be out of character for me; more impromptu.

I remember one time I was visiting Washington, DC, with my wife. We were taking in all the wonderful historic sites and landmarks, and having just a grand old time. As a writer, however, nothing thrilled me more than the prospect of my inaugural visit to the Library of Congress. The brochure showed a stairway ascending through that magnificent building to an observation deck where you can look down upon the library and enjoy the— CLOSED!

The damn stairway to the public viewing area was closed; roped off.

No signage offering a reason why was provided. Be it for repairs, security concerns, whatever; the public was not allowed to view the library that day.



Quickly checking to make sure the LOC cops were otherwise occupied, to my wife’s horror, I skirted around the stanchion ropes, darted up the stairs and dove into the observation-deck room.

To say this was “not like me” is an understatement. And while it may seem as if a minor accomplishment to you; to me it was one of the most satisfying, exhilarating moments of my life.

All I’m saying is that I wish I had done more of that kind of thing over the years.

By the way, had I included it, #6 would have probably involved tapioca pudding and a life-size model of the Hindenburg.


© 2016 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

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