Torto de resposta

Em consequência a este comentário, dum tipo que distribui abraços que até estala:

Dear Sir/ Madam *

It was because of me that you almost missed your flight; for that, I am really, really sorry. It was never my intention to mess other peoples lives up, yours least of all. But, you see, at the time I had a lot going through my mind - and later, as a matter of fact, a train through my head, but I guess you already know that.
The blunt truth is that I thought I had an appointment with God, and I was running late, so what would a believer do? Exactly, smash oneself to get up there fast. But when I got up here, guess what: he doesn´t exist. No, siree. What we think of Heaven, it isnt; it's just a big, fluffy pink warehouse with scarcely clothed 6 ft women. Hooray. And the Gals have their own warehouse too, with long hosed firemen, as far as I'm told.
It's really pretty cool up here.
So, please do not wish me any harm, just as I wish you a long, pleasant life just before your pink fluffy heaven Eternity.

Wish you the best, from this one who shall remain nameless (and armless, legless and pretty much bodyless)

Dear Sir:

Let me just point out that I am, as far as physical evidence can be summoned, of the male gender. I known this may be difficult for someone who delves in a genderless language, as english is, to extricate from a simple letter. I also suppose, the translator you hired did not point that out in his work - let me, therefore, suggest to you that he should not be payed the entire wages, since one might consider that a rather grave mistake.
I am sorry to say this, but the train did NOT go through your head. Of course, you could not know this, since by the time the damage was observable, you had an obvious eyesight problem (along with several others). The reason I say I am sorry to say this, is because your face was, probably, the one part of your body you would have liked not to be remembered by. Alas, your aim was amiss. The train severed you in a slightly upward angle, across the left nipple and knee. Yes, I am also very sorry to have to tell you, that your abnormally minute genitalia have not only been found intact, but were also immediately hurried to the Museum of Natural History. They shall be on display in the "Freaks of Nature" exhibit. Quite successfully, I gather, since entrance will be free. Of course, they will be hard to spot. Notice the choice of the word "hard". I am rather proud of it, given the context.
I must admit that your description of the afterlife did arouse in me a certain curiosity, which made me look it up in the internet. Yes, that's right: it is all there - you could have found out by yourself, before taking that decisive leap.
This much I can tell you, just in case you haven't yet found out by yourself:
There is, indeed, no God. There was once, but he decided to go elsewhere, when Al Fayed made a successful hostile takeover on his warehouses. In God's own words: "I wish that that fucking little muslim git dissapears under a fucking rock".
By this, you can easily see that God's powers are not what they used to be, because the "fucking little muslim git" did NOT dissapear under a rock. His son did dissapear, however, but in a tunnel. Now there's a nice little analogy for you!
There are two more things I can tell you, one of which you have surely already found out: all the 6-ft women are die-hard lesbians.
The other one, which I hope you have not yet found out, is that the other warehouse is crammed with abnormally large, scantly clothed, ultra-violent gay firemen. And they sometimes swap places: the 6-ft. women switch with the firemen. Why? Well, I found that out, too. I just had to dig a bit more.
The truth is, there is no heaven. Just a suiciders' hell. And, yes, you guessed it: you're there. I suppose you have already noticed you can not get out of your warehouse, nor can the other women come into yours...
Oh, well, I am not one to carry a grudge. I sincerely wish that the swapping between your hosts will be as low in number as possible, and that you will be able to remain undetected whenever that may happen. Of course, eternity is a long, long time, and a lot can happen in that time. But let me reassure you: I am sincerely hoping that you rectal tissues will not suffer too much distention.
Furthermore, I must thank you. Not that I ever considered speeding up my demise, but due to your track-performance (and your subsequent letter addressed to me), I have researched enough to definitively eliminate any possibility of me ever putting a planned end to my earthly existance. Consequently, I am, to a small degree ( a very small degree, actually), sorry to have to tell you that we will not meet in the future.

I wish you all the best
(who knows, you may end up liking it - notice the choice of words: "end up"! Very droll, given the context!)
yours truly
*.