It is virtually certain that I will never, ever get to attend a Christmas orgy at the office.
Your choices?
Walk on the moon.
A three-way. 
Emma Watson.
Reon Kadena.
Be the President of the US.
Swim in an olympic-size swimming pool filled with chocolate syrup.
Win the Power-Ball.
Inherit billions.
Secure a fiscally viable American Dream for my children.
Well, I know I’ll never get to be President of the USA. I’m Canadian. 
Other things I’ll never do:
Go on a date with Kathy S., Anna-Marie H. or Gabriella M.
(Three women who were major interests during different phases of my life.)
Be a father.
Go to space.
Be rich.
(I’ll qualify that one by saying that I mean ‘rich’ as in ‘I can spend 200 million dollars to buy a yacht and not even worry about the impact that purchase would have on my bank account’. I am rich according to one definition: I have no debt. I am poor by another definition: I do not own a house.)
Be able to reliably recognise casual acquaintances and interpret body language.
(Nothing I can do about that one; it’s the brain wiring.)
Own a house.
(Just too much money.)
Go into orbit.
Pilot a light-than-air craft. (preferably a rigid hulled LTA)
Dive on Titanic
Be an elected representative to the State Assembly.
Be elected to public office (I’m Wiccan).
Join the 3rd reich and skip while everyone else is goosestepping.
Sleep with George W Bush while in drag.
Master Arabic and all of its variants back to the 3rd century.
Buy the Mona Lisa and donate it to a third tier school frat house.
Be the oldest person on earth and still be a world class limbo dancer.
Start an airline that specializes in random aerobatics.
Start fires by rapidly licking sticks with my tongue.
Do back handsprings so fast that I become a blur.
Suck a spaghetti noodle 100 hundred yards long into my mouth and then spit it out the same way to make delicate performance art.
Water ski behind the QEII.
Use a jet pack to make the winning score in a critical NFL game.
Get Hillary Clinton to sleep with me and make her moan like never before.
Knock over the rest of Stonehenge with a roundhouse kick.
Call Chuck Norris to make a fight and he just cries.
Experience being a mother.
I don’t mean for that to sound melancholy; I never wanted to have children, and except for the rare instance of baby craving (rarer and rarer over the years) I’ve been perfectly fine with that decision.
But I wonder what it’s like to be pregnant, to know you’re creating another human being. What birth is like, what having a human being totally in love with you and utterly dependent on you, how much your life changes once you’re a mother, and that child is your legacy and your treasure.
Then I get over it.
Be me again at like 13 and somehow keep everything I know and realize I had a lot more going for me than I understood.
Drive a race car, or fly a formula one pylon racer. I’ve had a chance to drive the car, but couldn’t fit in the cockpit. Didn’t fit in the pylon racer either, but am not qualified to fly it if I had.
Be a frontman for a rock band, for just one song, at an arena show.
Have a three-way with my high school girlfriend and her older sister.
Have a son.
Make my first million by 40 (I’m 41).
Introduce my daughters to my grandparents.
Take back that thing I said, for which I will forever live with guilt.