The light snapped on, and Melody gasped. Her Chiro-Sure memory foam mattress was sitting at the counter, with a gun menacingly laid atop it.

“Wh-what?” said Melody. “Chiro-Sure? How…?”

“Where were you, Melody?” The mattress’s voice was soft but firm, just like its body.

“I was at my boyfriend’s house,” said Melody. “Why do you care? HOW do you care?”

The Chiro-Sure seemed unmoved. “Did you think I would forget, Melody?”

“Forget what? I-”

“DID YOU THINK I WOULD FORGET?” roared the memory foam. “I never forget! I can’t!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Melody cried.

“Did you think I would forget how I hugged the curves of your body? The intimacy we shared? Did you think I would just forget as you went and shared that with another?”

“But…” Melody stammered. “But…!”

“You made me do this,” said Chiro-Sure. “It’s not me who killed you. It’s you who killed me.”

The pistol barked. Then, a moment later, it fired again, spattering the window with bits of memory fluff.

And that is why you NEVER use memory foam pillows or matresses. THEY NEVER FORGET.

Paid for by the Box Spring Manufacturers Association of America

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