Hank came from from a long day at work. He entered his house, took a fireplace stoker from the living room, a fork from the kitchen, and book from the shelf, and $1.15 in change from the couch. He went upstairs, ran a bath, and, a look of mixed joy and horror in his face, threw the everything on the floor by the bath. He then turned off the water, emptied the tub, and left the house.
What’s the backstory?

Hank worked at the post office. It drove him mad that Ed McMahon kept saying that he and everyone else on his block was going to be a winner. The last straw was when he received an envelope that looked quite official. It even had a red stamped message that said, "Confidential Materials Enclosed". Hank grabbed the fireplace stoker from the living room to protect himself. Who knew if someone had seen this envelope. Under no circumstances would Hank hand over this piece of extrodinary good luck! Quickly Hank tore the envelope open and found four pages of little perforated stickers with magazine and CD covers on them. He threw them aside and looked at the letter Mr. McMahon had sent him. "What the fuck?" he stated a bit too matter of factly after reading the letter that told him that although he was under no obligation to buy, it would greatly improve his chances if he did purchase 10 CDs and he would receive the 11th free. Hank had to think about it...was it worth it? Would Ed actually pick him if he chose the right CDs? He had to see how much money he actually had hidden in the home and then he'd sit in the bath and decide what to do.

Leaving the poker in the kitchen, Hank grabbed a fork and moved stealthily into the living room. As Hank hadn't been to a gym since he graduated from high school, the fork was a bit lighter to cart around with him, and it would indeed keep people away from his coveted letter. He moved to the book shelf and grabbed the copy of Paradise Lost. Since it is such a snore of a book, Hank knew that no one would ever look in that book. He opened the book, and there in the cut out pages was $19.00. It wasn't enough. He moved to the sofa and frantically dug in the cushions until he came up with a dollar and fifteen cents (mostly in pennies). "Eddie" he thought, "Here I come!" The big money that McMahon had been taunting him with was finally going to be his. The twenty dollars ensured this because he would buy the Cds that he knew would please McMahon. A little Kenny G, maybe some Wayne Newton and that failed rock CD that Pat Boone made where he was all clad in leather...Hank knew this would please Eddie Mc. Hank sniffed his pits, all this excitement had made him perspire and he certainly felt a wee bit ripe. To the bath.

Fork in one hand, just in case some infidel had seen his specially marked envelope and dreamed of taking it away from him, and twenty dollars and fifteen cents in the other hand, he moved up the stairs to the bathroom. Hank began to draw the water. He liked his water luke warm because it was too typical for people to like either a cold bath or a hot bath. Above all else, Hank was an individual. As he was drawing the water, he peered out of his window...it couldn't be! But it was! The Publisher's Clearing House van was flying down the dirt road. Quickly Hank turned the water off and ran down the stairs.
"What should I do?" he thought to himself? "Should I pretend that I didn't see the van coming? Yes. That's what I'll do." Carefully Hank arranged himself on the couch so that he could see the door but he LOOKED very calm, cool, collect and most of all...he looked nonchalent. "Mr. McMahon will be very pleased with his winner." Hank thought smugly. "Oh no!" Hank wore mismatched socks (for some reason, he thought that it would help him get laid. His hot neighbor Melina said it worked for her...and yet Hank hadn't seen action in years!), he ran upstairs and quickly changed to matching socks. He heard a knock on the door. Oh happy day!

Hank ran downstairs. Calming himself, he walked a bit slower to the door and wiped the grin off his face. It just wouldn't do to be so sure of himself. He opened the door. There were no balloons. Confused he looked at the two men in suits.
"Where is Ed McMahon?" a puzzled Hank enquired.
"Are you Hank Johnson?" one of the men in suits asked, completely disregarding Hank's question.
"Well, yes..." Hank stammered, confused to the core. Perhaps Mr. McMahon didn't actually give out the giant check, perhaps that was just a TV stunt. The silent man in the suit reached into an interior breast pocket of his suit and drew out a large envelope. The man spoke, "Mr Johnson, this is a restraining order. Please stop contacting Mr. McMahon and Publisher's Clearing House you have not won the sweepstakes, nor will you ever. Ed McMahon is not now, nor ever will be your friend." The other suit shook his head in a grim agreement. They turned to leave.
Hank stood in his doorway dumbfounded, what did it all mean? He had seen when McMahon hinted that the next winner could be "you" he knew that McMahon was talking to him. And the confidential documents? What did it all mean?

Hank closed the door and returned to his living room. He sat looking at the stamps that Mr. McMahon had sent him as well as the stack of mail that Publisher's Clearing House had sent him over the course of two weeks. He knew what to do. Hank began arranging and cutting letters so that he had begun something that said, "DeAr ED...WhEN wiLL I sEE yOu agAIN? I Am tHe NExt Big WiNNeR AreN'T I? Tired from the day's letdowns, Hank thought he'd continue the letter later after he had that lukewarm bath.