Oh how I try to be debonaire
To fill my life with words of wit and wisdom
To speak with pause for thought
To rise above the baser self
And devote my life to the higher pursuits
But who am I kidding?
That’s not me.
Mine is a world of the puerile and the juvenile
Of fart-jokes and slap-stick
Of the double-entendre and the hidden meaning
No phrase too coarse, no taboo too sacred
To be used for a quick laugh
The shock only adding to the giggle factor
It’s a case of numbers you see
The gross, the crass, the simple
Hit the spot quicker
While higher humour stalls in the explanation
To tell you why it’s funny, to politely request a chuckle
The base strides forth with impunity
Dragging forth riotous laughter with little regard to consequences.
The base strides back to the simplicity of the child
When the belch was an art form
And falling a spectator sport
That child has never left
Hidden from view
Emerging only in the explosive laugh at the lowest levels
It needs no justification, no basis for what brings humour
The answer is in the laugh, it just is.