Please note: the following is humor -- part of a
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 16:09:11 -0500
Subject: Please read & send 10 people, I don't send these that often
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
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 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.
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.
Billy 'Smiles' Evans,
the boy with just a head.
And a burlap sack for a body.
This file last edited January 21, 2000.