By the time an evolving franchise gets to installment three, you'd best know which side of the fence you're on. Per the usual, I laughed, snorted, and drooled my way through "Jackass 3." And I'm not going to judge myself poorly for it, either.
Take, for instance, the glory of the debasing stunt that is "Poo Cocktail Supreme." One of our jackasses - armored only in swim goggles and a nose plug - is strapped into a feces-loaded outhouse, which is tethered slingshot-style to massive bungee cords on either side. It's a catapult by any other name; basically one of those trebuchets they'd firebomb castles with in medieval times, only this one's chock full o' poo and a dude. The outhouse is released, and up it shoots like the Space Shuttle, only to have gravity shift upon descent and discharge its chunky cargo throughout the "passenger cabin" and our manic, puking passenger. If that sounds funny to you, watch immediately. If not, still watch immediately, so you can praise yourself for your taste having truly evolved beyond such gleeful tomfoolery. I'm just not there yet.
In fact, I'm at the point where if I laugh at a thing, I try not to suppress, question, or analyze it, as I have plenty of people to do that for me. All I know is that throughout "Jackass 3," I laughed incessantly.