Hi. My name is Sam. I am a mechanic. I have been bedridden for days now. I can’t walk, talk, or do anything else. All I can do is write. I will give this letter to someone who will mail it to you. Please don’t stop reading because you’re my only hope.
This all started 2 years ago. I was a happy and wealthy man back then. I owned several repair shops. I knew how to fix any kind of car. I knew every car inside out. I spent many nights under cars. I even preferred the smell of grease to flowers. I ate and slept with the cars in the shop. The sun was surely a stranger to me.
One day, out of nowhere, a customer told me, “do you have a girl?” I said, “no!” “How do you live without a girl? Who do you go home to? How could you live without a girl?” the customer added. I told her that I had never thought about that and I don’t care and just leave me alone. The woman left and I got back to work.
The winter that year was a harsh one, and I came down with the flu several times. I never recovered completely from the last one. I saw many doctors, each prescribing something different but nothing worked. My body was aching so bad I started skipping work, the work that I loved so much. I had to stay home which made things worse.
The last doctor I saw told me that my problem was not physical. She said I needed someone in my life. She said that I needed a girl. I said that’s non-sense. That’s bull, I said. The doctor said my only chance of recovery is getting a kiss from a girl. Despite ignoring her suggestion for weeks, I felt obligated to try her suggestion due to my deteriorating condition.
The problem, however, was that I didn’t know how to kiss a girl. A bigger problem was that I didn’t have a girl. A bigger problem still, was that I didn’t know how to befriend a girl. The doctor prescribed me a day at the beach, watching Titanic at a theatre, a smile, eye contact, flowers, and some perfume to mask the smell of grease.
The next day, after finishing work, I splashed some perfume on my blue work overalls, got some flowers, and went to watch Titanic. I tried to ask some girls to kiss me but security threw me out for talking too much and too loud. He hit me on the head with my bouquet of flowers. He had a chubby face. He told me never to come back to that theatre. I pinched his thigh.
“Here are the flowers so kiss me,” I told the first girl I saw at the beach. She said “what?” and drew her eyebrows together. I said proudly, “I have seen the Titanic.” She kicked me in my bolts. I had to sit down.
The next day I saw a girl standing next to a garbage can. I stretched my lips into the form of a smile, made eye contact, and said: “would you please kiss me, I’m sick.” I then pushed my lips together, forming a circle, and waited for my kiss. “You certainly ARE sick,” she said. “Thank you for understanding,” I said politely, and bowed to show that I was polite. She smiled at me. Her boyfriend didn’t. He threw me into the garbage can. I think somebody had thrown up in there. There were also lots of needles. They were sharp too.
The next day I went to see Titanic again. “Jack… Jack…” the girl in the movie was saying. I walked to the front of the theater and faced the audience. “Would someone please kiss me,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Suddenly I saw drinks and popcorns coming at my face at the speed of light. Fortunately I was able to grab some of the popcorn and eat it. The popcorn was cold but it didn’t taste half-bad. People were screaming at me.
Three months ago I went to see the Titanic, for the 27th time. I put on more perfume this time. Maybe this will do the trick, I thought. Unfortunately people got up and left the seats wherever I went. I was frustrated. I slowly crept up behind a girl, turned her head around, and kissed her. I realized that I had her nose in my mouth. I also realized that her face felt rough. I let go of her nose. She turned out to be a he. I apologized. He winked at me. The next day I became more sick.
Two months ago, the last time that I went out, I spent the day at the beach. A girl there told me she would kiss me for the right price. I didn’t mind it. I shook her hand. In a motel room she asked me to take off my blue overalls and everything else I was wearing. I didn’t understand how taking my clothes off would help her in kissing me, but I didn’t complain. She then handcuffed me to the bedpost and took off with my wallet — and clothes. To that I complained.
She did not return. It took me two hours to break the bedpost and set myself free. As I left the motel, naked as the day I was born, I saw some police cars. The girl who had taken my wallet and clothes was there too. When she saw me, she screamed, “He’s my pimp!”
“What’s a pimp?” I asked politely, smiling and making eye contact. A man suddenly started running towards me. Later on I realized that he was her father. The police cars and her father chased me around the place for an hour but finally caught me, beside the beach.
“All I wanted was an innocent kiss,” I repeatedly told her father as he gave me a good beating. He finally grabbed my head and kissed me hard on my mouth. “That’s the kiss of death,” he said. His kiss tasted like the skin of a puppet, right when it’s born. “But you are not a girl,” I said, trying to correct his misunderstanding. He threw me in the water.
Fortunately, the police cars soon arrived and I was rescued. They beat me some more. In the jail, the policemen gave me water to drink. They finally allowed me to go home. I bowed to them to express my gratitude. One of them kicked me in the ass.
Since that time, I have become bedridden. The doctor, she now says that it is because of all the beatings that I have received, that I have become bedridden. But I know it’s because no one has kissed me yet. So, if you are reading this letter now, please come to my house and kiss me. I live in New York, in a repair shop. I really need you. I will even take a bath and shave, if you come. Please, you are my last hope.