By Eliot Wilder / MTV's popular "Cribs" is presumably meant to be a wickedly funny and ironical spin on traditional Hollywood wealth, a sort of alternate universe "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous." Instead of being led by Robin Leach on a tour of Liz Taylor's palatial digs we get Missy Elliot personally showing off her garish estate. Trouble is, "Cribs" is neither funny nor ironical. What it is is just one more TV program that flaunts the revolting amount of wealth acquired by pop stars who, after listening to them speak without a script, sound as if they can barely etch their names in the dirt with a stick.

When Naughty by Nature's Vincent Edwards gives us the grand tour of his gaudy manse, we come to realize that this tough-guy rapper is just about as street as Martha Stewart is. "Here's what everybody has," he informs us straight-faced, "a refrigerator." The guy even has his initials engraved on his shower knobs, in case, one would assume, he forgets who he is.

Then there is Sum 41 drummer Steve Jocz, who, at 20, still lives with his mom and dad. The house is decorated Laura Ashley style with rococo wallpaper, colonial furniture and an array of teddy bears that might crowd out an FAO Schwarz. Steve shows us the lay of his parents' land, mocking his mother's frilly tastes and boasting that he still secretly masturbates to Internet porn on the computer in his folks' bedroom. Nice.

Mariah Carey doesn't live with her family. Not that they and, say, the entire line-up of the New York Jets couldn't squeeze into her "humble abode" in Manhattan. Humble? Ostentatious doesn't begin to cover it. With its pinkish walls that "remind me of candy ... tasty!" and its bedroom closet that could easily accommodate my entire Boston apartment, Carey's cocoon melodramatically screams - in the same way she does when she opens her mouth to sing - "Look at me!"

At least headbanger Rob Zombie seems to have a sense of humor about his citadel, which looks like something out of "The Munsters." Rob acknowledges that his collection of B-movie horror show memorabilia, pirate ship kitsch and whorehouse decor is just for fun - although it's creepy, and not a funny creepy, to imagine that someone actually lives this way.

In addition to football-field-sized swimming pools and security systems that would rival Fort Knox, most of these artists, if you can call them that, have erected immense awards shrines to themselves that have the hubris of an Egyptian pharaoh and the cheesiness of a high school jock trophy case. One thing noticeably absent from all of these castles is a sense of soul; many have the scrubbed and polished appearance of a museum, with even the hippest hip-hoppers' domiciles looking as though an entire maid staff is in residence.

Another thing missing, as Moby astutely observed in his segment, is books. None of these celebrities - with the exception of everyone's favorite vegan Christian whose own New York loft is relatively modest - appear to read, and their preferences reflect a lack of discernment of good, or even cool, taste. Not that it's important to have brainy and discriminating pop stars, but those on "Cribs" revel in their grotesquerie on such a grand scale that it makes one come away feeling disgusted. No inspiring novels, no compelling artwork, no environment that would foster creativity. Just stuff. Lots and lots of stuff, all housed in garish dwellings that stand as testaments to rapacious acquisitiveness. LA Weekly's Dave Shulman put it best when he referred to "Cribs" as "hip-popitalist real estate porn."

Some may indeed be wowed by Backstreet Boy AJ McLean's theater-sized home entertainment center or by Master P's 14-karat-gold ceilings and $3-million bedroom with its eloguent (sic) wall-length fish tank. Others may watch the overexposed offshoot series, "The Osbournes," laugh at the dysfunction going on inside the walls of the very wealthy and proclaim, "Hey, they're just like us!" And yet others - such as myself - may wonder what any of this has to do with making music. OK, it's not like selling out is anything new. But if the characters portrayed on "Cribs" think they are parodying old-school showbiz, they need to think again.

Hey, yo, check out my crib.