I know you all are very caring people:
I am a very sick boy 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 anymore. The reason she is so sad is that I’m so sick. I was born
without a body.
It doesn’t hurt, except when I go to sleep. The doctors gave me an
artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The
doctors
said that was the best they could do on account of us havin’ no money
or
insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more
money. Mommy doesn’t work because she said employers don’t hire crying
people. I said, “Don’t cry, Mommy,” and she hugged my burlap body.
Mommy
always gives me hugs, even though she’s allergic to burlap, and it
chafes her real bad. I hope you will help me. You can help me if you
forward this e-mail. Dr. Van Nostrem from the clinic said if you foward
this e-mail then Bill Gates will team up with AOL and do a survey with
NASA. Then the astronauts will collect prayers from school children all
over America and take them up to space so that the angels can hear them
better. Then they will go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection
in church and send the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me
better then.
Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Or maybe just use my
lungs and heart, when the doctors make them. The doctors said that
every
time you forward this letter, the astronauts can take another prayer to
the angels.
Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don’t want my
leaves to rot before I turn 10. If you don’t forward this e-mail,
that’s
OK. Mommy says you’re a mean heartless shithead 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 so you can burn forever in hell. What kind of goddamned
person are you that you can’t take five fucking minutes to forward this
to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest
of their day, and then maybe help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?
Please help me. This really sucks. I try to be happy but it’s hard. I
wish
I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy.
Thank You.
Billy ‘Smiles’ Evans,
the boy with just a head, and a burlap bag for a body
