Jeremy Eaton
If you ask me, rednecks have gotten a bad rap from the media (and by "the media," I mean ME, and by "rednecks," I mean straw-chewing, mullet-wearing, English-slaughtering, stink-smelling, moonshine-drinking HILLBILLIES). And while there are certain rednecks who I shall forever despise--like that idiot comedian Jeff Foxworthy--I am willing to concede that not ALL monster truck-driving, trailer park-living, biscuits 'n' gravy-eating, cousin-kissing hillbilly rednecks are 100 percent bad.

However! You wouldn't know that from watching TV! Every reality show has at least one token redneck on board (along with a token gay, token black, token hottie, token meatcake, token geriatric, token bitch, and token serial killer--who sometimes doubles as the redneck). And while it's certainly amusing to watch these retarded hill folk make asses of themselves--with their quaintly insane Southern sayings and freaky hayseed dances--where are the "thoughtful" hillbillies who treat their fellow man and barefoot family with love and respect? Well, my friends, these rednecks are on the demolition derby reality show Carpocalypse (Spike, Saturdays 8 pm).

The concept for Carpocalypse is so simple even an inbred drooling hick can understand (which is good, because that's the entire cast). Twelve of the best derby drivers are given five days to locate, repair, and prepare for race night. But here's the spin: The races are deviously clever and destructive. One week, it's the "Chained School Bus Race," where two buses must complete 15 laps while chained together--not easy when the other buses are T-boning you at top speed. Next it's a "Taxi Smash," where cabs pulling 15-foot trailer homes pave a hillbilly swath of destruction in 12 laps or less. And then there's the "Mini-Van Massacre," a mind-bogglingly apocalyptic competition that's not exactly intended for soccer moms. While winning the race is the intended objective, destruction is the real reward.

HOWEVER! While it's certainly gratifying to watch insane hillbillies smashing, crashing, and bursting into flames--that's hardly enough to make Carpocalypse one of my current favorite shows. It's because these rednecks are real people. Not just "aw-shucks" tobacco spitters, but genuinely good people who love their families, have a strict code of ethics, and are entirely passionate about finding cars, repairing cars, and totaling cars in the most destructive way possible.

It's the charming eccentricities of the drivers that really make the show worth watching: It's "Bobby the Smurf"--a diminutive racer who drops a transmission on his arm, and still manages to race even though every bone in his hand is busted. It's "Misty the Bikini Racer"--a 20-year-old hottie who races in her swimsuit, yet very vocally demands respect from fans and drivers. It's "Fordzilla the Crowd-Thrilla"--who possesses the most amazing mullet I've ever seen, and "Raybo the Show Stopper" who is so overwhelmed by the pressures of racing, family, and job that he bursts into tears on a weekly basis.

Does this make me want to give Jeff Foxworthy a second chance? HELL, NO. However, thanks to Carpocalypse, I can watch the best of both redneck worlds: The utter joy of blasting a car to smithereens, and Billy Joe Jim Bob shoving his tongue down cousin Sissy's throat!