Low Brow

I recently had to reprimand Ally for sculpting poop out of brown play-doh and throwing it at her little sister. When said pseudo-poop was confiscated, she just shook her head and muttered, "Oh, man. I guess I'll have to go back to making poison."

(Gear shift)

Why is it every child has a fascination with feces? I mean, besides the obvious "Oh-wow-this-came-out-of-me? factor," what is there to laugh about? It's warm, squishy, and can clear a room through a super ultra protective odor-locking diaper with plastic undies and two pair of sweatpants. Any mature adult will tell you that excrement and/or any other bodily functions are not funny.

But for whatever reason (the sounds, the odors, the twenty thousand ways to describe dropping a load), some of us never grow out of it. (Heh-heh.) Shut up, Beavis! At least there will always be a market for potty humor as long as there are 7th grade boys...or anyone who used to be a 7th grade boy.

Maybe it's the connectivity factor. We all do it, so it must be funny, right? Maybe.

Just the other night, I was flipping channels--as I am wont to do when I can't sleep--and I paused for a moment on My Name is Earl. I never watch the show normally, but for some reason I followed for a minute or two. One dude (Randy) is supposedly trying to mentor an elementary-aged Hispanic kid (Oscar), just trying to be his buddy, a "big brother" or something. I don't remember. At one point Randy asks Oscar if he needs to go "drop a 'dos'." The kid nods and heads into the men's room. Randy then turns to Earl and 'translates': "In Spainsh, 'dos' means 'poop.' ("Little Bad Voodoo Brother" My Name Is Earl, Season 4, Episode 8. 10/30/08) I hadn't laughed that hard since reading Gary Paulsen's Harris and Me. Why it tickled me I'm not sure. It could have something to do with the ungodly hour of night, the number of braincells in operation, or just the fact that I eat 7th graders for lunch.

Those of you who have seen me read from Guys Write for Guys Read know that I go into fits when I read these grossly immature shorts to my students. Sidenote: this year I was finally able to read Jack Gantos's "The Follower" to one class without pausing to wipe away the tears of laughter.

Another example of our low brow collectivity occurred a few weeks ago when, while talking about creating tone and voice in writing, I told my 9th graders that there were two words that would cause them to laugh any time I said them in class. They didn't believe me, and even tried to prepare themselves against it. Stone-faced, they dared me to make them chuckle.

"Fart. Naked."

No context, no running gag or punchline--just two words.

They held strong for just shy of a millionth of a second before the boys started snickering. I said them again and before long, no one could keep a straight face--girls included. One pubescent geek started into one of those laughs where his whole body started shaking, but no sound came out. You know the one I mean? You're not quite sure whether he's laughing or having an epileptic fit? Yep, that's the one. His face started turning red, tears streamed, and we started to fear that he might literally bust his gut (not a pretty sight). He had to be reminded to breathe. I sent him to go wash his face and collect himself, but much to the delight of his classmates, throughout the rest of the morning, he would not-so-quietly chuckle to himself.

My inner imp wants me to say those magical giggle buttons in my 7th grade classes, but if I do, I'm afraid I'll have to clean up a stale smelling spill shortly thereafter...and that's not funny; at least not until I tell the story later. If it gets too bad, I'll just have to go back to making poison instead.

P.S. I'm starting a writing club just for boys in January.

Sorry it's so disjointed. I'll probably just remove this later.