Housatrash is a low-tech, low-class affair: no set, minimal costumes, insufferable puns, men in drag and in gorilla suits. But that's not to say that a first-class intelligence isn't at the wheel of the pick-up truck. Trav SD, who has cemented his downtown reputation as the maestro of irreverence with a series of equally low-rent vaudevilles, is a self-hating smarty pants mocking yokel culture for it's inanities, yet sub-textually yearning for a car seat on his porch.

The play opens on Bob Maggot, a garbage man moonlighting as a Baptist Preacher, who presents himself as the obnoxious and irredeemably ignorant patriarch of the Maggot family. What ensues must be typical throughout most of Appalachia: a glue-sniffing teen runs away from home, a father offers a rifle to his unwilling son as a substitute for masturbation, a trucker vies for 18-wheel immortality and adopts a gorilla as his on-road sidekick. A dark and whimsical web of lust, lies, and family duty is knitted for the audience, and by the end, we are wrapped in a Dixie quilt that's equal parts Dukes of Hazzard and Rodgers and Hammerstein.

Although Housatrash mocks the "wretched refuse", to borrow a term from the production's subtitle, it is filled with knee-slapping, meta-country-western tunes that would warm the heart of any lonely cowboy. "Red Meat", "Deer Caught In Headlights", and "Haunted House" feature deep-fried melodies that both betray the author's satirical sensibility, and expose him as a boy who probably once dreamed of hauling a rig over state lines.