Sleeping comfortably on the souls of exploited children

So the family has gathered at my brother's place in North Carolina for Thanksgiving. It's a lovely condo in scenic (smack between the Interstate and the airport) Greensboro. I'm also told there is a Navy test field somewhere nearby.

So as I was settling in to sleep last night on the futon in my brother's room (mom and dad having already occupied the spare room and the couch being ever so slightly too short), I comment on how very very comfortable the pillows were, and asked him where he got them. By way of reply, he simply told me that his company (for those of you who are unaware, my brother works here) gave him a $25 gift card for thanksgiving.

I was suddenly overcome with a horrible suspicion, and demanded to know where the pillows had come from.

"Wal-Mart" he said mischievously, knowing my aversion to that particular den of evil.

I would have thought the screams of countless exploited children would have kept me up, but turns out they are remarkably soothing.