"City fag" David Wilson grows a scraggly beard, puts on a camo jacket and baseball cap, jumps in a beat-up pickup flying the Rebel flag sets off for the places where godless, baby-killing liberal maggots fear to tread ... America's Redneck Republics.
Everyone knows what Rednecks are into: hunting, country music and working at the auto plant when not being abducted by front yard aliens. But where can you meet this most American of exotic species? Right here, y'all:
As any moron knows Rednecks love cars. In particular, they like gas-guzzling, enormous f***-you Hummers, hotrods and trucks (preferably gun rack-equipped). Failing that, they are partial to anything that graces a
NASCAR stadium. Indianapolis Motor Speedway is the monster granddaddy of them all. It can seat no less than 250,000 beer-guzzling, cousin-marrying, road kill-eating patriots.
This Florida resort known less poetically as the "Redneck Riviera" is a family-drive and deep-sea-fishing destination. The nickname is the title of the song that immortalised it, which was composed by Kentucky-born balladeer Tom T. Hall. A sample snatch of the lyrics sums up the atmosphere: "They got beaches of the whitest sand/Nobody cares if gramma's got a tattoo/Or bubba's got a hot wing in his hand."
Disneyland is just too fancy for some rednecks. A better place to take the kids (all 10 of 'em) is Waterworld Colorado. Slogan: "America's biggest, America's best." Thrill Hill, Lazy River, TurboRacer: the names of the attractions signal that this is simple, primitive pleasure. Whizz. Splash. Yeehah!
East Dublin wins inclusion as a Redneck Republic hot spot because it hosts the
Redneck Games. Lithe, muscle-bound perfectionists need not apply. The Redneck Games are for folk whose athleticism normally extends no further than tossing the empties out the window while pushing the gas pedal to the floor. The Redneck Games repertoire includes the cigarette flip, the mud-pit belly flop, hubcap hurling, a big-hair contest, even "bug zapping by spitball". For each event, the trophy is an empty, half-crushed, mounted beer can.
Ladies, y'all put on your leopard-skin spandex. Bubbas get ready to flash the cash because the next stop is that poor man's
Vegas, Reno. In truth, rednecks are also drawn to just about any place where roulette is on the cards — riverboat casino cities and Indian casinos are popular. But "the biggest little city in the world" is the number-one draw because, well, it's Reno: a rinky-dink, pretension-free promised land of plenty and excess. Rednecks who win big or tank can hit the brothels or wander off into the desert and pull dodgy
Jackass stunts involving rattlers.
Why Sandpoint? To some, the town may seem as boring as a Billy Ray Cyrus ballad. But Sandpoint (population 6000) boasts a long lake and a unique claim to fame. It served as the birthplace of Republican Party star Sarah Palin before she moved on to another small town, Skagway, Alaska. The moose-hunting hockey mum who reportedly condones "aerial wolf gunning" strikes a chord with rednecks. Could she one day make it all the way to the top? You betcha! So Sandpoint must warrant a pilgrimage.
Like Sandpoint, at first blush Bentonville may not seem to have much going for it. True, as applies to many redneck zones, you can get a lot of house for your money round there. Also, now and then, a tornado takes a swing at it. Otherwise, Bentonville is quiet, real quiet but proud. Indeed, the 90.92 percent white town borders on being a sacred redneck site. The reason: it doubles as the birthplace and headquarters of the world's largest retailer: Wal-Mart. Founder Sam Walton started with a small store on the town square. Now a visitor's centre, it resembles the kind of business that Walton's Frankenstein's monster routinely crushes.
"How did Burning Man get in?" you ask. Yes, the Black Rock Desert pyromaniac's ball appears an unlikely choice because it lures its share of jugglers and hemp poncho-clad enviros. But like another alternative festival, California's Coachella, Burning Man draws droves of white trash. It makes sense if you think about it: fire, explosions, cars, pounding music, beer. What's not to like for a redneck?
9. Pennsyltucky (rural Pennsylvania)
Truth is: you can spot rednecks anywhere if you get lucky. Even
San Francisco. But if you really want to know the breed, go Rust Belt: explore Pennsyltucky aka Pennsylbama (no relation to the rednecks' least-favourite president-elect). How do you get there? Essentially, head for Philadelphia. To see folk who think it wrong to marry
outside the family, avoid the metro area. Tour the God's country provincial world of bait shops, bars, diners, bingo nights, shooting ranges, strip clubs, duck shoots and monster-truck rallies. Just make sure you do not run out of gas. Rednecks don't take too kindly to strangers snooping around their backyards. God bless America.
Where would you vote as Australia's home-grown redneck hotspots? Give us your suggestions using the comments form below:
Be sure to check out our photo gallery of America's Redneck Republics by clicking here: 
Related link: Check out RALPH's article on the car dealership that gives away a free assault rifle with every purchase.
