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 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 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 to everyone you know. Dr. Johansen said that for every person you forward this e-mail 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 the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me get 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 and my dream will be closer to coming true.
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 email, that's okay. Mommy says you're a mean 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 forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame and help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?
Please help me. I try to be happy, but it's hard. I wish I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy that wouldn't chew on me and try to bury its own shit in the leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.
Billy "Smiles" Evans (the boy with just a head, and a burlap sack for a body)