To write about the Stuntmen--whose new sketch-comedy-with-music show is currently running at Re-bar--I must resort to a two-pronged approach.

Prong #1 is the show's execution, which is, to the last second, sharp as a tack. From artsy accordionist Jason Webley to Maktub main-man Reggie Watts to a pair of members of the acclaimed improv troupe the Habit, the Stuntmen have packed their ranks with grade-A talent. What's more, they rehearsed--the whole show speeds past as smoothly as a post-Nad's ass.

But then there's Prong #2--the show's content--and rarely has a prong been graced with a more fitting number. Because, aside from a few toothless forays into "topical" humor (the stupidity of emoticons, the questionable acting prowess of Brad Pitt), the Stuntmen relegate themselves almost exclusively to the bathroom (in spirit, if not always in locale).

This isn't an inherently bad thing; done smartly, toilet humor can be as funny as a man chasing a dog with a ham in its mouth. Unfortunately, the Stuntmen add little new to the poo-humor genre (unless you count length--the man-in-love-with-a-toilet skit went on for so long I was literally driven to boo).

Still, rarely has such stupid, pointless humor been so expertly performed (in editorial circles, this is known as "polishing the turd"), and for the sheer talent of the performers, for the shininess of their collective turd, I'm almost willing to recommend this show. But until the Stuntmen start digging deeper--finding out why a man's most meaningful relationship is with his toilet, rather than just trotting out a litany of euphemisms for taking a dump--I can't.