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Poop Man Bob

Please take a minute and help poor Billy.

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E-mail I received.

 

 

My name is Billy Evans, and I'm a nine-year-old 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 don't hurt much, 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 don'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 and to everyone 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 really 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 hit

a kitty so it wouldn't chew on me and try to bury its turds in

the leaves of my burlap body.

 

I wish I could have that body very much.

 

Thank You,

 

Billy "Smiley" Evans

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Originally posted by Poop Man Bob

I wish I could hit

a kitty so it wouldn't chew on me and try to bury its turds in

the leaves of my burlap body.

 

fucking dumb.

a little bit of it was funny, though.;)

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Guest angry xbox

what the fuck??? who the hell wrote that ima shove my foot up thier ass.

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honestly, I had to change my email address because of shit like this being sent to me. nice post. I might have to send this off to a couple of people just to let them know that they're dumb.

 

 

 

and what's wrong with third base???

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Guest Dusty Lipschitz

Hello to all who receive this letter. On July 3rd, 2000, seven-year-old

Jessica Miller was recovered from her father's 1986 Chevy Lumina- a place

she had called home for all of her life. After being discovered alive,

she

was rushed to Oakville Baptist Hospital where she stayed in intensive care

for two weeks before making an emotional recovery. Sadly, three days

later she went into total relapse and died.

 

Friends, while on her deathbed (the second time) young Jessica told her

mother (who arrived as soon as she found out her daughter was going to be

on Dateline NBC) that her last dying wish was for the US to finally land

on the

moon. After discovering that that had happened, she changed her dying

wish to wanting her condition upgraded from "almost dead" to "very much

alive". Young Jessica took a pen and paper and began writing a poem and a

letter to

be sent around the world to know about her tribulations.

 

The poem and letter are here:

 

Roses

By Jessica Miller

 

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I'm dying

This sucks.

 

Dear world,

My name is Jessica Miller and I am 7 years old. When I was born, my

mother left me with my father, who locked me in the trunk of his Lumina

for 7 years without food and water. While there, I got head cancer and

secondhand smoke. And fetal alcohol syndrome. And the flu.

Please have sympathy for me, a dying child whom you have never met. For every person that you send this to, the America-Future and Keepsake Environment (A-FAKE) will donate 75 cents to the Save the Children from Dying Too Much foundation. Those 75 cents will go towards putting my brain in a frozen tube as doctors work on developing an artificial heart to replace the goopy cancerous heart that currently pulses blood through my young, crappy body. Please have a better heart then mine (ha!) and send this letter to all of your friends.

Andrew Klondike of Madison, Wisconsin sent this letter to five of his friends, and he got a promotion the next day. Bill Winters of Topeka, Kansas sent this letter to 100 of his friends and received 3 million dollars from the lottery 5 minutes later. Ed Fennel of Medina, New York deleted this letter and immediately exploded. Please sign your name and send this letter around the world for the sake of the universe. Even you can prevent forest fires.

 

Signed,

Jessica Miller.

 

Sadly, Jessica died while signing her name. But if we join together we

can bring her back! We must do this! Imagine a world without Jessica.

Who would be there to swing on the swing-set with you, or to play patty

cake with you? We cannot just let her die without a fight! Let is stand

up for the freedom of America! We are the few, the proud! We land men on the moon!!!

 

Please sign below:

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Guest imported_El Mamerro
Originally posted by Poop Man Bob

Maybe one day I will

be able to really play baseball. Right now I can only be third

base.

 

 

Laughing hysterically right now...

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