Hello,

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 try to breathe. 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.


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. The doctor
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 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. Maybe one day I will
be able to play baseball. Right now I can only be third base.


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 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
shit in the leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.