I have this friend who just got a computer and has this strange tendency to send me dreadful email forwards. I get long stupid jokes, Winnie the Pooh poems and wretched chain letter pleas for help by cancer kids with a guilty twist, like I am terrible or will always have bad luck if I delete the message. I always delete them anyhow. But today my sister sent me the worlds best email forward. This should stop all those cutsie/weepy/guilt-ridden messages from jamming up your box.

I am a very sick little boy.

My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She is crying.

Don't cry, Mommy! Mommy is always sad, but she says it's not my fault. I asked her if it was God's fault, but she didn't answer and only started crying harder, so I don't ask her that any more.

The reason she is so sad is because I'm so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn't hurt, except when I try to breathe. The doctors gave me an artificial body. It is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was the best they could do on account of us having no money or insurance.

I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money. Mommy doesn't work because she said nobody hires crying people. I said, "Don't cry, Mommy," and she hugged my burlap bag. Mommy always gives me hugs, even though she's allergic to burlap and it makes her sneeze and chafes her real bad.

I hope you will help me. You can help me if you mindlessly forward this e-mail to everyone you know. Mindlessly forward it to people you don't know, too.

Dr. Johansen said that for every person you mindlessly forward this email to, Bill Gates will team up with AOL and send a nickel to NASA. With that funding, NASA will collect prayers from school children all over America and have the astronauts take them up into space so that the angels can hear them better. Then they will come back to earth and go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection in church and send all the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me get better, then.

Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Right now I can only be third base.

Every time you mindlessly forward this letter, the astronauts can take another prayer to the angels and my dream will be closer to coming true. Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body.

If you don't mindlessly forward this email, that's okay. Mommy says you're a mean and heartless bastard who doesn't care about a poor little boy with only a head. She says that if you don't stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you die a long slow, horrible death and then burn forever in Hell.

What kind of cruel person are you that you can't take five freakin' minutes to mindlessly forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame about ignoring a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy? Please help me. I try to be happy, but it's hard.

I wish I had a kitty. I wish I could hold a kitty. I wish I could hold a kitty that wouldn't chew on me and try to bury its shit in the leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.

Thank You,
Billy "Smiles" Evans
(the boy with just a head, and a burlap sack for a body)


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