There's no accountin' for it, and that's a well-known fact. One man's trash is another man's treasure, one man's pizza is another man's poison, one man's woman is another woman's man, blah blah blah I can never remember stuff like this 'cuz my brain is always so crammed full with worms. What we're on here about is personal taste, particularly in humor. Why am I so enamored with silliness when other's may find it boring or even offensive? Like washing dog's balls. That one's probably beat to death but I just can't resist.
Well, my Mom was silly. She wasn't exactly pratfall silly but she did like to take the silly step, do a little dance, strike the goofy pose, make a funny face. It was ironic because she was quite a beauty. Ultimately anorexic thus skinny as a rail but curvy and buxom too especially in her younger days before two kids and being married to a bipolar golf addict wore her out. But even worn out, even in the days before she crawled into her bed for the last time, even when she really couldn't remember our names but could still respond to a cue, even then - ever the entertainer - she had a few silly moments.
When Dad was on a high (Mom called his moods "the red reds or the blue blues", meaning he was either ready to wring your neck or could do nothing but hang his head) he loved word play. Often what he thought was really funny was lost on my sister and only marginally entertaining to me, like "German Aliens" for Geraniums and "Nasty Russians" for Nasturtiums. Golf, which he proudly claimed as his true vocation vs. practicing law which was just a hobby, was not something he often joked about. But the language of golf was always on the tip of his tongue, for example if a family member passed a little gas he would always say "nice out!", which is a congratulatory phrase for a successful sand shot. Thus farting became sport at our household. Who wouldn't want to have a "nice out"? Especially when you pause to consider the alternative!
Which leads us inevitably to Scatology, a field of study that, while not found in most college course catalogs, is rich in history and tradition and is certainly deserving of academic discourse. Why was William S. Burroughs so preoccupied with pee pee and poo poo (or as number two was known to my sister and I, "boom booms")? Is it just something you think about when you're on the nod after a big dose of China White? Gee no wonder everybody says it's a high that's in a class by itself.
Personally I would rather drop a little ibuprofen and contemplate Boo's balls.