And now for something completely different.

Recent news coverage from the campaign trail seems to typecast small-town Pennsylvanians as gun-loving religious zealots – and bitter ones at that.

I don’t know where anyone would get such an idea.

Surely not from my father, who once accidentally shot the family SUV during target practice in the woods in Nanticoke. And not from Nanticoke itself, a town that can’t host a social event unless it makes use of a Church parking lot in some way.

But NO ONE'S BITTER ABOUT THOSE THINGS, that's for sure.

I mean, I may not have known how to operate Microsoft Word until I enrolled in college in 2000, but I once was able to recite the Beatitudes backwards and I can shoot an empty Clorox jug with alarming accuracy. So it’s not like people who grew up in small-town Pennsylvania are deprived or something.

Of course, no one has to apologize for their opinion - but they might consider apologizing for their insult.

And a certain someone else might consider apologizing for this.

The Dating Doubter: A Play in One Act.

Location:
Wilkes Barre, Pa.

The Year:
2005

The couple stands in a small apartment. My Date crosses the room and stands in front of a table with a computer. A miniature schnauzer romps playfully on the floor.

My Date: My roommate hooked up the Internet and it’s really fast.

Me: Oh really? What do you have?

My Date: Just the Internet.

Me: No, I mean is it DSL or is it cable?

My Date: I don't know, but it's really fast. Both computers use the same one too!

Me: You mean they use the same connection?

My Date: No, the same Internet. Both computers plug into a little box and you can use both computers at the same time.

Me: Oh! You mean a router!

My Date: No… this is just a box. (Holds the box.)

Me: That’s a router!

My Date: (Shrugs) Well whatever, it’s really fast.

Try as I may to convince my date that the “little box” had a name, he didn’t believe me. Perhaps I should have used Renee Mazer’s new approach to vocabulary building: WORDGASM, “a risque vocabulary builder.”

“The set of CDs or audio tapes contains 'remember me' clues for over 500 of the most tested vocabulary words. If it makes you laugh, it'll get stuck in your head. For instance, "My boyfriend's kissing was lackluster, so I said 'See you later buster,'"” according to ReneeMazer.com.

That approach may have worked for my date and his little box. Something like:

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,
I said, "It’s called a router,"
Do you need me to repeat it,
Or just say it louder?”

Famous last words.

Growing up in Northeast Pennsylvania, my father would occasionally line up old bottles and cans in the woods and let me and my brother shoot at them with loaded guns.

One time, as I was leaning across the hood of our Dodge Raider, aiming at an old vanity light bulb propped on a rock 20 yards away, my father took the pistol out of my hands and said, “You’re holding it all crooked! You’re going to shoot the car!!”

And immediately after saying that, he of course shot the car – the bottom of the passenger door to be precise. He narrowly missed his own foot.

I was about nine at the time and I didn’t know what irony was, but I made a mental note that I was going to find that day really funny in about 15 years.

Given my history with firearms, I’m concerned that someone dubbed the “Millionaire Patriot” is providing a "Springfield Armory XD Pistol free of charge to the first 5,000 law-abiding citizens who take advantage of his offer.”

And if the release wasn’t enough - I’m especially concerned with the Front Sight Firearms Training Institute’s Web site banner, which seems to feature five photos of the Millionaire Patriot pretending to be a secret agent man.

He better hope that my father doesn’t find out about this offer – you know, for his car’s sake.

"I've been praying for a way out of here for three days!"

When I was a junior in high school, my theology teacher recommended that I attend a leadership camp.

Michelle, my partner-in-crime in high school, was nominated too and we were shipped off to Clark Summit, Pa. for the first week in July.

Our first clue that something was amiss was that we were staying in a convent.

Our second clue was that there were about fifty kids in groups of five or six standing on the convent lawn and they appeared to be coordinating some sort of dance routine.

This was not a leadership camp. It was a religious leadership camp. And, presumably, it was for boys and girls with bad attitudes.

“You’re going to leave me here?!” I hissed at my parents as they got back in their car. “With these freaks!”

They didn’t listen to me.

“No, really,” I said to my parents. “Do you see these people?! They’re freaks!”

But my parents left Michelle and me with the camp supervisor in the gravel parking lot that afternoon and all three of us knew it was going to be a long week.

“Put your things inside and then join us on the lawn for a game of Red Rover,” she told us.

Prior to that weekend, I don’t think I played Red Rover since grade school - something not uncommon for the normal population.

Reluctantly, Michelle and I joined hands with some scummy kid and swung our arms half-heartedly.

“Red Rover, Red Rover - Let Jesus Come Over!” we chanted.

And kids on both teams looked at us, confused.

“That’s right!” we said, scanning the playing field. “Not coming, is he? That’s because he’s not real!”

It was a little ditty we worked up five minutes before when we were hiding inside with everyone’s suitcases.

While certainly entertaining now, that unwittingly made our Jesus camp experience exponentially more uncomfortable because we became the souls everyone wanted to save most.

Michelle ended up doing OK, but try as they may, they could not break my spirit of spite and angst.

From discussing the religious undertones of Phil Collins songs, to the rebirth party we had at 8 p.m. the second night to the prayer bonfire – I just did not give in.

But in case I have a change of heart, there’s still a chance for me – I could attend Ave Maria University’s “Picnic at the Prep.”

Not to be outdone, the Next Level Church of Matthews commemorated the launch of a new campus with a shot glass give-away.

"The glasses, which feature the church logo, an invitation card, and the words "Give Us A Shot", are designed to encourage attendance at the new campus," reads the release.

Now that's a church event I could "come over" for.