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 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. 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 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 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 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 turds in the leaves of my burlap body.
