I just love them. Oh don’t take offense. How would I know that I love them if I hadn’t been to some of them, right? In fact, the ones I’ve really come to love are the ones that attract people who parody white trash. They’ll dress to the white trash extreme. They’ll act just a bit white-trash-over-the-top. Yep, those are my favorites.
Perhaps you’ve attended that annual truck thing down at the Dome. It’s a white trash utopia, and they come from miles around just to visit the temple and pay homage to loud engines, drunk spectators, cutoff shirts and scandalously skimpy dresses with cowboy boots. Fans chug beer and shout at each other over the oily roar of diesel engines. Spectators pass out, their heads lolling back onto the laps of the drunks sitting behind them. And faintly, under the smell and deafening roar, country music twangs in the background.
Ever been to a wrestling event? I don’t mean wrestling, the sport. I mean wrestling, the televised spectacle. I mean the kind of wrestling that requires oiled muscles and hair, props like folding chairs and ladders and handmade signs to flash at the TV cameras. The fans are frightening, out-of-control, crazed. The wrestlers are steroid-driven, horrible actors. And it’s wildly popular.
My book tackles some of these scenarios, plus of course the white-trash spin on weddings, funerals, etc. You have to laugh; otherwise, you’d be afraid to leave your house!