It’s not what you think.
Back in September, I bought the for-Mac version of Postal 2: Share the Pain. It’s been out for a couple-to-three years, but it’s one of the coolest, most irreverent and most disgusting games I’ve ever played. Google around for the official storyline or setup or theme or whatever you want to call it. There isn’t much to it: You get weapons and can kill whoever you want… especially those who are trying to kill you (read: enemies you make due to your own actions, cops, SWAT teams and Army guys with M-16s, Osamas, Gary Coleman).
You can decapitate someone with a shovel, you can shoot evil butchers with a 9mm, and you can pour gasoline on people and light them (and yourself!) on fire. If you are unfortunate enough to catch fire (by your own actions or those of others), the only way to survive is to unzip your pants, piss in the air, and let your own urine shower down upon you until the flames go out.
Disgusting. Irreverent. Cool!
Moving along: Erin’s gone for the weekend; she’s at her Mom’s for her 2nd wedding shower. I figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to spend hours upon hours in front of the computer playing the follow-up, expansion pack for the game, “Postal 2: Apocalypse Weekend”.
I ordered it on Tuesday, and paid for 2-day UPS delivery. It shipped on Thursday… so it won’t arrive until after Erin returns from her Mom’s.
Perfect plan foiled. It was supposed to be my Apocalypse Weekend. Fuck.