Low Blows

There's a conspiracy against me, I'm sure of it. My evidence? Never in my years as a Terre Haute tenant have cornflakes been served. Until today. Daylight savings time not coming into effect until Sunday (it is Thursday as I write this), this morning was as dark as it gets surrounded by security lighting. I sat down with my brown plastic tray of processed corn meal and emptied the 1/2-pint carton of milk into the compartment. Had the cell been a little better illuminated I probably would have seen the clumps of rotting cream before tasting them when taking my first bite of cereal now soaked in rancid dairy. An inspection of the milk carton when the sun rose revealed an expiration date of March 11. The ruthless bastards actually forged an expiration date! They pissed in my cornflakes. Lieutenant Howard, this has your fingerprints all over it. You've won the battle, but the war is far from over.