Ach! Cruel winds of regret bale through my gutturals. Had only I been able to keep your frail, frequent-flossing phalanges from feasting upon that food filled with festering phyla and fever-inducing fumes! To keep my lovely little lady from sipping upon the soup of death! Would that I had chugged ten buckets of hot chicken blood, and warred with then thousands of salmonellan soldiers, had it spared you of this fate. O! Regret, thy name is Jangle, and thy tears flow steadily. Forgive me.