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Copy and paste the below letter into your email program or use the form to send it to every asscrack who forwards you cute, junk or chain mail.

Asscrack's Email
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Re: Please Help!!! A Dying Little Girls Dream...

In May 1942, at the height of World War II, a sweet, little, innocent, mentally handicap girl by the name of Gwendolyn, or Earline, or Bertrand, or Mittie, or Velma or... it was one of them old lady names, except it was so long ago that those were regular names and not just grandma names. That little girl found out she was dying from smallpox or ebola or HIV or sassparillo (again, it was one of them old time diseases that we don't have anymore but back then they couldn't cure so a lot of people died from it like holocaust or ovaltine). The next day little Ethel, Mildred, Eugenia, Arvella, whatever her name was, went to her local town hall and signed on to the community computer. Because back in the olden days not everyone had a personal computer in their home or a pda hanging from their fat khakied ass. That day the little girl logged on and posted the below message to a bulletin board, because back then they didn't even have chat rooms or instant messages or this fancy Java chat software, all they had were just bulletin boards that they posted messages on and hoped people read and replied.

After that sweet, beautiful, mentally handicapped girl who was dying posted her message, 5 people logged on and read what little Maude/Eugenia/Arleen/Beatrice wrote. All of them forwarded and kept that message alive in her memory, until this day. And all of those 5 people went on to experience great fortune in their lives. One was the first person to go to Canada to avoid the Vietnam draft, another invented the machine that rolls condoms down and packages them and became quite prosperous until he died of syphillis, another held up a liquor store and killed the clerk, but never was arrested. The fourth invented hot, barely-legal, lesbian teen porn, and well, we all know what a gold mine that has become. And the last woman had a terrible fear of being raped, tortured, beat, bashed in the head, decapitated, disemboweled, crapped on, left for dead and living the rest of her life in a coma--and never was.

Of course little Amelia/Birdie/Ester whomever--she was run over by a pony express carrier on her way home that night. But don't feel too bad for her because she had the fatal disease of dysentery or humus, or one of them diseases that killed people on the Oregon Trail. Instead, keep her memory and spirit alive by passing on this e-mail and her message. Forward it to 5 friends, family members, coworkers, or just make up some e-mail addresses like 69for69@69.com or picking@mybutt.com, or maybe e-mail it to your congressman, or even the president (president@whitehouse.gov). But please for the love of god and the sake of Fedrica/Gertrude/Petunia, whatever her name. For her memory, please keep this e-mail alive. And perhaps a little luck will come into your life, or at least you won't get a bad disease and get run over by a FedEx truck.

Her message, which we implore you to continue on, is this:

Quit sending me stupid goddamn junk e-mails, either jokes, or retarded chain e-mails, or those do-nothing charity e-mails asking me to forward dumbass messages to my friends to help some poor dying, snot-nosed bastard kid, or those mindless e-mails that tell me of a virus that can delete my hard drive when I open them. Because even I, a retarded, dying little girl in 1942, know that opening an e-mail cannot infect my computer with a virus. Now, if I am so retarded that I download any attachment from an e-mail, especially if I don't know what it is, well then I deserve any virus I get.

Some might say all those good things happened to the original 5 people who kept this message alive because that's the way life is, a coincidence, it was happenstance. Others might say its because they all read and kept that little girls message alive and fate or karma smiled upon them.

Personally, I don't give a greasy crap. Just stop sending me all those stupid fucking emails.

Ladies, not that you need one, but here's a surefire way to start a fight: "Do these pants make my tits look fat?"