Truth, some believe, is stranger than fiction—even well-written pulp fiction featuring ridiculous man-sized outhouse leeches or a homicidal, incestuous hillbilly clan. However, as a recent television series so cleverly proved over the course of nine seasons, the search for truth—whether personal or peripheral—can be a far more fascinating journey. Keeping that in mind, I’ve compiled this collection of short stories chronicling the droll occurrences of my formative years in bucolic Pennsyltucky. These deliciously embarrassing experiences embody just a few of my attempts to develop a resistance to the subtle tickle of detachment I felt between myself and virtually every other denizen of my simple rural community.