#42: Republican VP Nomination Sarah Palin

—Loves guns? Check.
—Small town background? Check.
—Grandmother at 44? Check.
—Excessively patriotic? Check.
—Beauty queen wannabe? Check.
—Barely left the country? Check.
—Knows how to sell shit on ebay but doesn’t know dick about science? Check.
—Chain-smoking while drinking a Schlitz? If not her, then the company she keeps (and yes we know it’s a Photoshop job, but that pic has more truthiness to it than any actual photo-op shot).
—Mullet? Eh, that’s close enough.
—Drove a Camaro? We’re just going to go ahead and assume she most certainly did.

Jesus Lord of Family Values, the Republican nomination for the veep is perhaps the Platonic form of White Trash. The only thing she’s missing is pregnant teenage daughter.

Oh, oops.

We can’t put this woman in the White House fast enough. Why?

Why the fuck not? Look at the size of her tits. QED.

Come on, shouldn’t we have a VP that the entire population (Ladies…) would masturbate to the thought of? That’s what matters. Not shit like experience. Experience is fucking overrated. Did Neil Armstrong have any experience walking any place besides planet Earth before he stepped foot on the moon. And that worked out a-fucking-okay. Didn’t it?

And Isiah Thomas only had a couple of years coaching experience before he took over the Knicks and look how that worked out. Okay, bad example. But what kind of experience do you need dealing with foreign nations when you live near foreign nations? Fuck, that’s brilliant.

By that logic, it means I’ve got a massive cock because I once saw John Holmes in a porn (Ladies…). And I bet she did too. Hell, I can’t wait until the Harding-esque—and that’s not Warren G. we’re referring to—videotape of her honeymoon hits the Internet. You know it exists (or existed).

So fucking A for America. What better place for White Trash to live than the White House? None is the answer. Ruler of Ghana, hope you like fried bologna sandwiches for your state dinner, cause that shit is going to be on the menu with a side of Twinkies every fucking night. If you want something a little more upscale, like maybe mac and cheese, maybe you should get a job leading a more badass country, like, oh I don’t know, America.

Oh wait, you’re probably black. Sorry.

#41: Waffle House

Know why White Trash People love Waffle House?

Waffles? No. Wrong answer.

Seven words: Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, capped, and topped

Shit, you can get your hashbrowns like, what, at least eight ways with those seven options. Maybe more. Could be like, I don’t know, 40. You probably have to know math and shit to figure it out.

Point being it’s plenty. And that’s awesome because it’s choice. And choice is what makes America great. Seventy varieties of breakfast cereal, ninety types of ice cream, forty different NASCAR drivers, and virtually unlimited varieties of porn.

So, going into a Waffle House and having 19 ways for them to make your hashbrowns, that’s like being able to order America right off the menu. Hell, even McDonalds ain’t got but 2 or 3 types of cheeseburgers. No wonder those commies set up shop in Moscow.

You think they have 19 kinds of hash browns in Albania? Hell, they probably don’t even potatoes in Albania? Stupid country has one rail line that goes from a city people don’t want to live in to one they don’t want to visit. It ain’t even connected to another country.

Not America. We don’t need trains because we got 300 million cars. And Waffle Houses aplenty along every highways those cars drive down where White Trash People can walk in and order a plate of Freedom over easy with the fried Constitution and a side of In-God-We-Trust sauce.

#39: Dale Earnhardt

White Trash People love Dale Earnhardt. Sure they love NASCAR, but they really love Dale Earnhardt.

They might not even be sure why. Could it be because he was “The Intimidator” and that’s the longest word that most White Trash People can correctly pronounce? Could be. But it isn’t.

Perhaps it was the mustache. Perhaps, but no.

White Trash People love Dale Earnhardt because he was Jesus.

Think about it. Last time he came to earth, he brought one guy back from the dead, and gave another back his sight; then, when the party was totally about to die, he turned some water into wine so his friends could continue raging until the early morning light. He was a total dude.

And what did he get for all his efforts? Some people—who shalln’t be singled out by their religious affiliation here—got bent out of shape and nailed him to a cross. Dicks.

You ever hang from a cross? That shit hurts.

So, when the old man said it’s time to go back to planet earth, the last thing Jesus wanted to do was draw much attention to himself lest it happen again.

Okay, so drive a fast car, hang out around the garage, maybe pick up a few chicks. And win a lot of races, but not too many. All of those near misses at Daytona? Hell, if he’d won the damn thing every time he stepped on the track, he’d probably raised some suspicion.

It only makes sense. You know, still be a dude, only be a little more low-key. Above all, avoid the cross.

Sound preposterous? Well, anyone every see his mom actually having sex? For all we know he was born of virgin birth again this time.

Need more evidence? Okay.

How many days from the time Jesus was crucified until he rose from the dead?

And what number did Dale Earnhardt have plastered on his car?

Not a coincidence. Just a little dark humor. And isn’t that what White Trash People really want from a savior? A sense of humor. Not to mention some wicked ass driving skills.

#38: Mullets

Most everyone knows the refrain by now: “Business in the front, party in the back.”

Well it’s wrong.

Sort of. It’s at least redundant, because a White Trash Person’s business is to party.

It’s not like White Trash People look at themselves in the mirror, see the mullet staring back at them and think, “Damn I look good.” No, no conscious person would ever think such a ridiculous thing.

What White Trash People are really saying when they opt for the mullet is, “Have you seen the shit on my head? I am so down to party right now that I don’t fucking care what my hair looks like. My haircut takes it’s name from a fish fer chrissakes.

“See my neck? No, because I’ve got a fucking mullet. I’ve also got bangs. So what if it doesn’t make sense? That’s the point. Let’s party. And let’s do it right fucking now.”

That’s why White Trash People love the mullet. It means there is no grey area, no equivocation. So what if they don’t know what “equivocation” means, they are still having none of it.

There is no deeper level here. There is no nuance, no sophistication, no irony, no symbolism, no nothing. It’s a tautology “mullet = party.” Period.

The only other two things you need to know: “Fuck” and “yes.”

#37: Dip

As smoking becomes less and less socially acceptable, nicotine remains just as addictive. Curious, huh?

But whereas many politically engaged people gripe, complain, and write letters to local newspapers upset that their Constitutional right to smoke is being taken from them, White Trash People have simply outsmarted the powers of the nanny state.

Those cans on the shelf right next to the Marlboro Reds, that’s smokeless tobacco; and, amazingly enough, using it results in no smoke. Yep, White Trash People love to dip. And it’s more than just because they are so political savvy. Chief among the other reasons is because:

A) There needs to be at least one product based on the premise that a cup full of saliva by itself isn’t disgusting enough, and

B) Lip and tongue cancer rates ought to be higher.

In fact, with regard to the latter option, White Trash People are engaging in an important public health campaign.

Sure, the American Heart Association has worked hard to inform people that smoking increases the risk of heart disease and lung cancer, but who is doing the work necessary to raise the awareness of mouth cancer?

White Trash People, that’s who. And it is White Trash People, not just White Trash Men, as the CDC reports that 2% of high school girls use smokeless tobacco. Those girls totally rule because dipping really is a brave move on their collective behalf.

Those lung tumors from smoking are hidden safely inside your chest, whereas it’s kind of hard to hide the fact you no longer have a lower jaw. That’s a commitment to a cause you just don’t see rich people make, unless they are all uppity about the environment or some shit like that.

“Just a pinch between your cheek and gum.” It’s like an eight-word mantra for making the world a better place one less lower-jaw at a time.

#36: The Chicago White Sox

White Trash Women may love Chipper Jones, but White Trash Men like baseball, too. They just don’t like baseball players because that’d be pretty gay. And if there is anything a White Trash Man isn’t, it is gay.

That’s why White Trash Men (and some Women) love the Chicago White Sox, because they are totally not gay.

First they wear all black like Ninjas, which are cool, or pirates, which are also cool and totally not gay even even though they spend most of their time at sea on a ship full of nothing but men.

Moreover, the Chicago White Sox cheat. Eight members of the 1919 team were banned from baseball for throwing the World Series. Sure that’s a long time ago, but that kind of example resonates decades later as White Trash People love to cheat, on their spouses, on their taxes, even on their exterminator licensing exam. Nope, nothing better than getting one over on the man.

But more than any ethos or color scheme, the real reason White Trash People love the Chicago White Sox is because they can be part of the action. After opening day, the stadium is often barely half-full. That means you can pay for cheap tickets then wander right on down to the good seats close to the field.

That makes it convenient for when you are all jacked up on meth and want to hop on to the diamond to beat the crap out of the opponent’s first base coach.

Look at him. Just standing there in his Royals uniform, doing his job. He’s totally asking for it. Shit, anybody with a queer-ass name like “Gamboa” on the back of their uniform should get beat up, because White Trash People do not tolerate being gay.

Yeah, meth, going shirtless, and fighting. A Chicago White Sox game is like the White Trash trifecta.

#35: Taxidermy

Killing shit it pretty awesome.

But even more awesome is letting people know that you’ve killed shit. That’s why White Trash People love taxidermy.

Taxidermy isn’t just about preservation, though, it’s a way for White Trash People to show that they are superior to nature in every way. Or at least they are with a shotgun in their hands. And that’s the proof, right on the wall next to their GED. Hell, that buck has more points on it than its assailant scored on the ACT. That’s something worth showing off.

But Taxidermy is also a way for White Trash People to show they have an appreciation for their ancestors. Cavemen hunted for their meals. They didn’t buy them in a grocery store. So by displaying their trophies from the kill, White Trash People are showing a deep connection to an evolutionary continuum that they don’t even believe in and don’t want taught to their children in school.

Additionally, eating something that was hunted is economical. And all that money saved by filling the freezer with venison can be put to better use, specifically, say, stuffing a deer carcass.

Finally, on a more subtle level, taxidermy is how White Trash People show they have an appreciation for irony. Why else would they go through the trouble and expense of chemically restoring an animal to look exactly as it does when it’s free and running around in nature only to stick it inside their home?

#34: Mardi Gras

Everyone loves a Winter vacation but, while not everyone can make it to warm climes of Central America or the Caribbean, they still like to enjoy some Third World charm.

That’s why New Orleans in February is such a popular choice. But ice that cake with some Mardi Gras, and it’s White Trash mixed metaphor Hajj to Mecca.

White Trash People love Mardi Gras not because it gives them a chance to sample the latest trends in professional sports jersey attire, but because it’s a celebration of two things that White Trash People simply cannot get enough of: booze and titties.

Sure both booze and titties are available almost any place, but not with the same ubiquity and easy access as at Mardi Gras. Drive through liquor stores, to-go Hurricanes, that’s merely an appetizer for the main course: Titties (c’mon that should have been obvious by now). And lots of them.

For Mardi Gras, New Orleans is transformed into truly magical place where the world’s most worthless trinket of cheap plastic beads falls from the sky. Then simply by repeatedly chanting “Show your tits”—which itself is brilliant in its monosyllabic elegance—those beads can then can be traded for a good look at a strange woman’s bare boobs.

It’s almost enough of a miracle to make you believe that somehow Jesus himself, through his life or maybe the time before his death, is responsible for the festival.

Almost.

#33: Chipper Jones

What says “dreamboat” more to a White Trash Woman?

1): A man who is rich, famous, and works just enough to keep you from getting annoyed with him? Or

2) A man who won’t have to be trained to wear white pants, owns some garish jewelry, and has already shown a penchant for frequenting Hooters?

That is indeed a poser of a question. And frankly no White Trash Woman wants to bother thinking through the pros of each enough to actually assign utility to both options in order to decide.

They are both equally awesome. And that’s why White Trash Women love Chipper Jones.

He’s loaded, he only works 162 days a year, he’s got questionable decision-making abilities, and he already lives in the South. He’s like Prince Charming. He even wears leggings.

But unlike Lorenzo Lamas and that guy from Beauty and the Beast whose love was unrequited, Chipper Jones’ affections might be attainable. At least they were for the Hooter’s waitress he cheated with, then knocked up when he was still married to his first wife.

He’s just like your high school sweetheart, and not just because he didn’t go to college either. Only he hasn’t gotten fat… yet. Oh, and he has a World Series ring.

But even if you don’t schlep wings in undersized shiny shorts, how tough can it be to score with a guy who is starting at third base?

So recap: He’s cute and employed. He might cheat on his wife with you. And for good measure, he could knock you up if you like. That’s batting 1.000 in the White Trash game of coveting.

Not bad for someone whose real batting average is .307.

#32: Cell Phone Belt Clips

As our boy Hank Kissinger once noted, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

It must be. Can’t think of a single reason why any conscious woman would let such a creepy looking troll shove his penis in her unless he had the power to bomb the Fishhook back to the Bronze Age.

And it’s not enough to have the power, you have to show you have it. Sorry, Cambodia, but even Hank needed to get laid.

But the lesson was not lost on shrewd White Trash People, specifically “show power = have sex.”

For that reason White Trash Men love cell phone belt clips. Having a cell phone belt clip shows the world one thing: that you have a cell phone.

Sure, so does every barista, immigrant laborer, and pimply-faced 14 year old, but they are so ignorant as to leave the phones in their pockets and out of sight.

Morons.

No, only by hanging a cell phone someplace visible with the help of a cell phone belt clip is a woman ever going to see that a White Trash Man has more computing power than the Saturn V rocket at his disposal. Yeah, that thing went to the moon; and every woman reading this just got a little moist.

So, it’s okay that humility is a casualty to technology. People need to see that you are important, you are in demand. Your buddy just gassed up next to Alan Jackson’s tour bus out on the Interstate? Molly Hatchet tickets about to go on sale? That’s the kind of shit you need to know. And you need to know it now because that shit could sell out.

Additionally if that cell phone does ring, a White Trash Man doesn’t have to futz around in his pocket for anything. It’s right there. And he’s saving 2 maybe 3 whole seconds with that cell phone belt clip.

Two seconds here, and two seconds there? That shit adds up. So the cell phone belt clip user is not only further along in his quest to get laid, he’ll have more time to do it once he gets there. There is a certain kind of genius to that.

Maybe that genius will one day be rewarded and that White Trash Man can even live in an area with high enough population density to warrant a cell phone tower and, with it, a cell phone signal.