This is a personal plea to all of
you who can walk and talk and |
breath and eat and poop and wipe yourself. How selfish you really are.
Please, for little Billy Evans...
I am a very sick little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because
I can't. She is crying. 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, or scratch my eye. 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. All the kids in the
neighborhood call me "Ralston Purina" 'cause that's what my bag says.
I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this email to
everyone you know. Forward it to people you don't know, too. Dr.
Jwahagrawhal said that for every person you 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 little 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. Every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can
take more prayers to the angels and my dream will be closer to coming
Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Right now, I can only
be third base. 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 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 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 poop in the
leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.
Billy "Smiles" Evans