It happens to all of us. Those horrendous fowarded emails from your parents, your grandmother, your religious aunt, or even from that person you emailed once and likes to send things to everyone in their “contacts” list. They usually induce guilt (by telling you that someone will die if you don't send it to 10 friends) or they play on your curiosity (you'll get 5 cents for every person that you forward this to.)
Well, it's your lucky day. I have the perfect forward that you can send back to these people. It's possible that some of them may even believe it, who knows?
Dear Kind Stranger:
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 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 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 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. Johansen said if you forward 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.
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 s***head 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 h*ll. What kind of godd***ed person are you that you can’t take five f***ing 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.
Billy ‘Smiles’ Evans,
The boy with just a head.
And a burlap sack for a body.
Now get out there and spread the word about little Billy “Smiles.”
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