Farts are funny. I laugh at dick jokes and enjoy politically incorrect cartoons.
In the immortal words of Popeye, “I yam what I yam and dats all what I yam!”
I take pride in my low brow humor. I don’t mean to suggest I want to stick it to those sophisticated New Yorker types. Instead, I mean my humor reminds me to take the gigantic stick out of my ass. It reminds me that I am an animal just like everyone else. We all have the same basic functions, needs, drives and undigested corn in our shit.
Yes there are differences, but a lot of them are pretentious bullshit.
Still… there’s a catch. Comedy is subjective.
Let’s imagine comedy is a penis (to grab a random metaphor). While this cock might be funny, that one is just a prick, and the other over there, the one in the backroom with the sticky floors and the hole in the wall, that one is just nasty.
To continue with the phallic analogy, Sausage Party falls into yet another category, the flaccid dick. A grower, not a shower, as the saying goes. You know, one of those “helmet in the bush” types that need encouragement from a pump or a little blue pill. I mean, bless its heart, Sausage Party tries, and manages to pop a chub a few times, but for the most part it was timid and non-threatening.
Most of the “laugh out loud” jokes would be best performed as short skits or cut aways a la Family Guy. Or, better still, as drunken slurs between bros at a kegger. There they would be epic! Not really, of course, but the vast quantity of alcohol would make up for the lack of real humor. A spoiler free example: most of the comedy is stuff like Selma Heyek playing a bi-sexual taco who curses is Español. Que bueno!
I wanted to like Sausage Party. I really did. And I should have. It’s the type of thing I usually get off on. But, meh… It just didn’t work and that normally doesn’t happen. While I’m willing to admit it is probably me, not Sausage Party, still, I think I’d like my money and the hour and a half of my life back, please.