God Bless All Your Empty Little Heads

Screaming in the wilderness, the echo is drowned out by the steady drone of traffic and is unheard, but somehow it is felt. Mr. & Mrs. Plastique shudder for a second, but they exchange no words about the sensation; they walk on, put the uneasy feeling down to the breakfast they had just consumed. Questions they don't want to ask pop into their minds, and they try to dispel them with their trivial concerns, but the exploits of the local football team and the latest fashions fail to dislodge their sudden input of thought. "For some reason, I want to see Reverend Dim," Mrs. Plastique says, and the hubby tells her that would be a fine idea. He plans on getting very drunk.