POSTAL 2: Intro Story ...His day started out like most other regular guys' - shitty - but that's where the similarities would end. He stared up at the stained ceiling of the aluminum trailer and mouthed an almost cordial "FUCK YOU" to any beast or deity that might be facing down upon his sorry ass from the comfort of their own purgatory. He smiled. The first fart of the day had briefly drowned out beelzebitch's snoring... Too bad his freshly spewed methane couldn't mask the odor of her breath. His smile vanished, but the stench didn't. He knew he had to get his ass up. The last thing he wanted was to endure the stifling heat and fumes while lying next to her. He might have loved her in some pathetic way, true, but not nearly enough to stay next to her drunken ass. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he concluded that necrophilia might be a tad under-appreciated. One last whiff, and he was up like a shot. Beelzebitch didn't budge. Big fuckin' surprise, he thought. He dragged his auto out from beneath the pillow and press-checked it to make sure the Sultress of Stink hadn't unloaded it while he slept. Shit, shower and shave. What else does a guy live for? But not today. He'd have to wait until he fixed the busted air conditioner - again. The piece of crap hadn't worked in a month. No harm in trying, though. Standing there sweating through a three-day-old pair of dirty underwear, he looked down at the broken A/C switch. "...Maybe coffee and corn flakes," he muttered, and started towards the kitchenette. He stubbed his pinky toe on his footlocker. He was not amused. It was shaping up to be one of those days. He filled the coffee machine with the smelly liquid that passed for water in these parts and reached for the used filter sitting on top of the kitchen trash, but too many bugs and too few grounds meant a trip to the store was inevitable. He knew he'd have to make a trip into town, but he took solace in the fact that at least he could have a halfway decent breakfast before that bullshit began - even if the generic corn flakes were eleven months past their expiration date. His brain nearly exploded when he discovered the milk in the refrigerator was eleven days beyond becoming cheese. He balled-up his fist. All he could think to himself was when the shit hits the fan, the whole fuckin' house comes down. Oh, yeah... It was shaping up to be one of those days, all right. "Jesus, save my ass," he hissed. "Road trip." He took a long-overdue leak and got dressed. He dressed heavy. He grabbed his car keys and a pen and picked up an old receipt from the Golden Vishnu market on which he'd previously written a short list of errands he needed to run, but before he could even reach the car, he saw the shovel with the lose head he'd forgotten to get repaired leaning up against it. He sighed. One more thing to do... Placing his pen on top of the curry-stinking receipt so that it wouldn't fly the frigg off the car roof, he put his key in the door to unlock it. < CRACK! > It unceremoniously snapped off in the lock. He was too pissed to cuss. The Dude stood there motionless for a few moments, then slowly turned his head to look towards town. Having put on his mirror-black sunglasses, he reached behind his hips to hitch-up his weighty belt and trousers. He flipped the old receipt over to jot down one last errand on the back...get milk.