I was reminded this week how much I hate forwarded e-mail. The one I received was the most vile piece of modern day fascist filth to ever be typed and distributed on the internet; it was one of those e-mails that made me see red – the kind that made me want to slap the author and the person who decided I needed to read it. So, with that in mind here’s my personal guide to forwarded e-mails and me:

1) Pictures of puppies, kittens and polar bear cubs – GOOD http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oolong_(rabbit)
2) Pictures of beauty, lines, people, movement, etc – GOOD
3) Prayer angels – BAD
4) Jokes – the funny ones!
5) Jokes/videos involving puppies, kittens and polar bear cubs – GOOD
6) Virus warnings, personal warnings – BAD
7) E-mails discussing religion, politics BAD IF you don’t know my views VERY well
8) WoW PvP battle videos at VR funerals with music – OH SO GOOD! http://www.sploid.com/news/2006/04/slaughter_at_th.php (not for the sensitive)
9) Acrylic PC Cases filled with cooking oil that actually run – GOOD!
10) E-mails explaining that there isn’t a good way for aforementioned PC to get rid of heat – GOOD!
11) Petitions BAD – Anything asking me to help Timmy who is stuck in the well by sending him postcards and e-mails BAD

Ok, so that’s long and I need to wrap it up. First http://www.snopes.com/ is your friend. It’s great source of information when you’re trying to determine if something you’re spreading on the internet is “real”. (April, Marzipan babies were creepy and real… Snopes just got it wrong.)

I leave you with this… (LANGUAGE WARNING!!!)

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 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 havin’ no money or insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money.

Mommy doesn’t work because she said 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. I hope you will help me.

You can help me if you forward this e-mail. Dr. Van Nostrem from the clinic said if you foward this e-mail then Bill Gates will team up with AOL and do a survey with NASA. 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. 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. The doctors said that every time you forward this letter, 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 forward this e-mail, that’s OK. Mommy says you’re a mean heartless shithead 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 so you can burn forever in the tar pits of hell. What kind of goddamned person are you that you can’t take five fucking minutes to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and then maybe 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. Thank You. The boy with just a head. And a burlap sack for a body.

In loving memory of Oolong, 2003

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