At Etude

Lumpy Gravy Part V: End of the Earlier

Greetings.
For the record, Jack isn't back. But at least he has e-mailed. I thought that I should share his latest with you, as I know you are as concerned for his wellbeing as I am. I got pretty choked up when I read this. I dare you not to be moved...

I am a very sick boy little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I cannot. 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 because 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 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 Nostrum from the clinic said if you forward this e-mail to everyone in America then Bill Gates would 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.

:::

*The doctors gave me an artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves.*
Don't believe this for a minute. I happen to be a close friend of someone who knows this kid personally. The bag isn't burlap; it's just a paper sack. Furthermore, it's not filled with leaves, but with feces. You can see that much of what he's told you is completely untrue. I guess you know what that makes him.
Nuff said!
poodle

:::

*I happen to be a close friend of someone who knows this kid personally. The bag isn't burlap, it's just a paper sack.*
One day, we will be able to judge each other not by the kind of container, but by the quality of the containment. I had a dream today that one day the sons of former burlap bags and the daughters of paper sacks will both be able to take their clothes off when they dance...
*And furthermore, it's not filled with leaves, but with feces. You can see that much of what he's told you is completely untrue. I guess you know what that makes him.*
George W. Bush?
(Is that your final answer?)
Yes, Rege, that sack of shit is most definitely George W. Bush. Of course, the description fits other politicos as well...
*Nuff said!*
Bullshit - with or without the sack! You have not said nearly enough. You have said more than anyone else has, but in this group, that aint sayin' much. So there!
I was going to say you aint said shit, but then I realized that indeed you actually had said shit. Therefore, I changed my strategy. I claim that you have not said enough in the last 3 weeks to belittle the posting of a dear friend to this group - my dad, Jack Bivouac. I personally find Jack a breath of fresh air in an otherwise flatulent group! And I wear rubber suits... So that makes me a bag of wind. So fucking what? Your reply to dad's message only proves that you (unlike our other members) are not presently in a semi-catatonic state.
Jesus, what am I saying? Gee Dubya is your governor, right? Then I apologize; you ARE in a semi-catatonic state...
Hugs,
SOFA