Of all the jokes in Postal III, there’s one that just about works. It’s near the beginning, which is cruel, creating as it does the impression that there might be more jokes to come.
You work in a porn shop, hoovering up the tissues of masturbating patrons. It’s invaded by Palin-esque hockey moms, so you flip from suck to blow, and so pelt the moral guardians with fresh fapkins. It’s not fun