I was gypped a cookie from my bag of Brussels.

I opened a fresh bag, and there were only four cookies in the top row of three, and there are only fourteen in what's supposed to be a bag of fifteen. Balls. Now, I'm one pissed off little Asian.

And again, I'm watching an episode of "America Undercover." This one's about "drug-addicted couples living on the streets of New York." At one point, a junkie cleans out his needle for future use by dipping it in a toilet he hadn't flushed yet. Yeah, one of a myriad of reasons not to do drugs. Bad things happen, man. Bad things.

It was another grueling day at the office during the week of Spring Break. This is, officially, the least productive day of the year so far. I spent most of it avoiding finishing paperwork (although I did get two more intakes done in rapid fashion), and trying to find non-caffeinated beverages in the vending machines (harder than I realized). With all the energy I expended, I'm surprised I'm even up watching this crap. I should go to bed.

Update: the second layer of cookies in the bag of Brussels reveals six cookies, bringing the total cookie count back to the advertised fifteen. I can now call off David Horowitz.