Pitiful Appeal Chain Letter

My name is 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.

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 leaves and the burlap. I make her sneeze and my body chafes her real bad. She can't afford Sudafed and Calamine lotion and that makes me sad.

I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this email to everyone you know. Forward it to people you dn't know, too. Dr. Johansen 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 Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, and they 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 like the normal kids. Right now I can only be the third base.

Every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can take more prayers 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 and my body turn into mulch before I turn ten. If you can only send it to a few people at least maybe we can get a new bigger burlap bag for me as I get older.

If you don't forward this email, that's okay, I'll understand. But my 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 self centered cruel person are you that you can't take five FREAKIN' minutes out of your happy day to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame about ignoring a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy too?

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 scratch and claw and chew on me and try to bury its turds in the leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.

Thank You,
Billy "Smiles" Evans