This is old, but I was looking for this in my email for a long time and ultimately found it on internet, so I decided to post it here for my future reference.
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. Tears are not so bad…Mommy says that when it rains that is the angels and Jesus crying. I love Jesus and Mommy, even if she is so sad.
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 says employers don’t hire 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. Mommy even sprays me with pesticides to keep the bugs away from my leaves. It tickles when she does. The fumes do not bother me so much…even though I keep getting sore throats from it. I hope you will help me.
You can help me if you forward this e-mail. Dr. Tab Norsemen from the St. Marmite’s Clinical Children’s Clinic said if you feel convicted to help me then pray and send money to the clinic or you can give it to your local church (just mark it for “the crippled boy with no body”). You can also email Gap, The Coffee Grinder, Taco Bell, Jack in the Box, Tower Records, Apple, and Bill Gates…he will team up with NASA and Nike to make me a new durable metal body (like the ones U of Oregon plays in).
Then the astronauts will collect prayers from school children all over America and take them up to space so that the angels can hear them better. Then they will go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection in church and send the money to the doctors too. 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 out of play dough or Krispy Kreme donuts. The doctors said that every hundred thousand dollars raised, the astronauts can take another prayer to the angels.
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 help, that’s OK. Mommy says you’re a mean heartless Cataphrygian who doesn’t care about a poor little boy with only a head let alone grace and redemption… She says that, if you don’t stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you suffer a long slow horrible death so you can burn forever in the tar pits of hell absent of martyr glory!
What kind of goddamned person are you that you can’t take five fucking minutes to inform all your friends so that they maybe absolved of any guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and possibly help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy? Please help me. This really sucks. I try to be happy but it’s hard. I wish I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy. One time I had a puppy but he ate my leaves. I wish I could swim with out wearing a net. I wish I had a friend other than Jesus. Jesus will never leave me.
In his grip with grace and peace and all the love my little burlap body can muster…
The boy with just a head and a burlap sack for a body.