*yawn*. I’m writing this bleary-eyed because I stayed up way past any respectable mommy’s bedtime watching what may be my favorite new reality drama, The (White) Rapper Show. Top Chef who?

You can figure out the drill: A bunch of lily-skinned MCs share a house in the Bronx and compete for street cred, respect and the requisite reality show treasure chest of $100K. Though there’s the expected infighting about who’s more “ghetto than thou” and the silly “wigga” wear (pull up yer pants, homey!), I became quite attached to these kids after just one episode: There’s Bronx-born Persia, who found out the heavy way that no white girl, no matta how ghetto, gets to use the N-word; the tiny little butch G-Child who counts Vanilla Ice as her main influence and probably doesn’t even know she’s a lesbian yet; the frighteningly self-referential John Brown and his “King of the Burbs” rhetoric, who appears to have some form off Asperger’s yet somehow breaks out the mad skills when put to the test. Shamrock, the cast’s lone Irish MC, appears to be quite talented, though he wasted much time trying to get the blonde bombshell Misfit into bed (Kylie Minogue-lookalike Misfit got canned in episode 2; she was obviously cast for her pretty face and English accent, but proved to have no chops and no sense of self-deprecation.)

My fascination may also have something to do with my decades-long crush on host Michael Berrin, better known as MC Serch, formerly of white rapping pioneers 3rd Bass. Serch has aged well and commands an almost rabbinical presence in the roach-infested warehouse the rappers call home (those Vh-1 producers sure know how to keep it real, yo.) He spit a little bit when Grandmaster Flash paid a visit; hopefully, he’ll throw down more as the eliminations continue.

While Serch is one mighty fine lookin’ Jew, there’s doesn’t appear to be a Jewish contestant, which seems ridiculous for a show set in the Five Boroughs. I guess I can understand why Orthodox Etan G wouldn’t be sharing a bunkbed with the very unkosher Misfit. But yo, Smooth-E, did you forget to send in your audition tape?

Since I only allow myself to follow one TV show at a time, these little Eminemmies will have to hold my interest in coming episodes with some serious depth and not play around the yard drinking 40s like they’re on Fame Games (the trailer for this hideous show where has-been celebs humiliate themselves further looped 20 times an a hour —I think my soul may have sustained permanent damage.) Otherwise, it’s back to early nights and the Food Network.