Dear Friend,

I am Nigerian royultee, and I wud like to share with yoo a story that recently happnd to my best friend’s sister’s cousin:

One day, while walking along the side of the road, my best friend’s sister’s cousin saw a strange van following her. Because she was in the parking lot at an undetermined Wal-Mart parking lot somewhere in America, she began to panic (because she’d gotten an e-mail a few days/weeks/months ago that told her bad things usually happen in Wal-Mart parking lots). So, instead of using her cell phone to call for help—because cell phones have  been known to light on fire spontaneously in super secret government lab tests and sometimes gas stations—she ran back inside the Wal-Mart and told the first elderly Wal-Mart greeter she could find. Luckily, by the time they went outside (the Wal-Mart greeter happened to be from Texas, so he brought his trusty security guard and his Remington Triple Shot Assault Rifle) the creepy, suspicious blue van had gone. (Did I mention it was blue? Cause I’m pretty sure it was.)

Two-Three days later, my best friend’s sister’s cousin was surfing the interweb/watching the news/reading the newspaper, and she saw that another woman had recently been kidnapped from the same sort of undetermined area by the very same type of suspicious blue van. The van had been filled to the brim with illegal immigrants who didn’t pay taxes—yet still took advantage of free American healthcare programs, like Medicaid and Medicare—and they sold the woman into white slavery and made her go to work for an internet company as a secret shopper/Coca Cola taste-tester/work from home payroll secretary. Little did the woman know, she was actually being cheated out of all her husband’s hard earned money!

Well, this made my best friend’s sister’s cousin VERY angry, and so she decided to write a scathing, yet comical political cartoon about it. Then, she sent the cartoon to all her friends. The next day, an envelope arrived at her house marked “Publisher’s Clearinghouse” and purported her to be a “Multi-Billion Dollar Winner!” But when my best friend’s sister’s cousin opened the envelope, it was full of Anthrax and she had to be rushed to the hospital.

At the hospital, a nice looking young doctor with green scrubs and a nametag that said “I’m an ACTUAL Doctor” told her a story about a patient who was black and had gold teeth and a really nice phone. Also Medicaid. She wondered why he was telling her this, (because she was dying at the time) but he shook his head and said “It’s all PRESIDENT OBAMA’S fault.”

Just then, a loyal old dog from down the street came running into the undetermined ER and knocked over the IV that had been full of Penicillin—which my friend’s whatever was allergic to, but the stupid young doctor didn’t know that—coincidentally saving my friend’s sister’s cousin’s life. But the doctor—because he was a bad man and also a closet Democrat—got knocked into a tray full of deadly AIDS syringes, and he died.

When he got to the pearly gates, the young doctor—let’s call him George—went up to Saint Peter and asked him what he had to do to get into heaven. Saint Peter looked at him, thought for a moment, and then calmly said:

“You must forward this e-mail to at least twenty people in the next five minutes or you’ll burn in heck for all eternity. Also, you’ll become a Democrat.”

The End.

Sincerely,

The person who’s always sending you all those dang e-mail forwards!