laughing at a fart is just not clever. And nobody wants to sit around in a room full of farting just so they can laugh.
I worked for a guy for a while, who seemed unable to resist telling stories he was sure were funny, about his bowel movements. Whether or not this may have been funny, or offensive, to any woman, never came up because just like the rest of the residential trades sector, there hadn’t been any women even show up to assert their equality to begin with. So it was just us fellows. Is that “male-dominated”? I can’t keep track any more.
But not a one of us thought that the rectonomics of his scatology, was funny. He was the boss, so at first it seemed politic to maybe chuckle a time or two. But after “a time or two” began to emerge into a daily pattern, and get weirder in the bargain, like dropping off tools and men for the day’s start and then driving like a madman back to town for #2, then coming back with a seven-minute rundown on just how this had gone for him and did any of us ever have x-effect happen to us when we took a squat?
Yeah, not only wasn’t it funny, it was a little creepy. Now remember, not a woman was in sight. The equation of a hypothetical female’s squeamishness or delicacy, or of this sort of humor not about a guy’s dick but his asshole, was really a moot point. We didn’t think it was funny. We would privately speculate, when he wasn’t around (most of the time; we call those a “one-arm-suntan man”, the sort who mainly work on their left arm’s suntan while driving around all day instead of working), the talk would turn to what must have been done to this disturbed soul we’d found ourselves on the payroll of, to have him obsessing about, you know….
I have a similar reaction to women, or men, who make a point of being crude and vulgar for being crude and vulgar’s sake: not whether or not it ought to be funny to me or some woman by whatever latest rules issued by pop-culture, but rather, why is this funny to them, to begin with?
Believe me, I’ve been on the hearing end, and earlier in life on the speaking end, of plenty of crass humor. After a while, it just grows sour. Any ethical or behavioral or gendroscopic considerations of who ought to hear it, sort of fade into the background and get overtaken by this sense of “why even say it?”
Plenty of things in life are funny. To confine humor only to what also must certainly be offensive, uncalled-for, or awkward, just for the sake of making the statement that somebody else ought not have a monopoly on it, mostly just rings to me as a confession that a person needs to finish growing up, to the phase of life where a thing need not be ugly or mean or obscene, to be funny. What is left, is most of the things that really are.