Rodney Carrington, Mark Gross

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Rodney Carrington gets away with a lot.

When the country comic sings "Show Them To Me" — if you don’t know what "them" refers to, you need not apply — a couple of women in the audience do.

This is Vegas, remember, so ponder the significance. In other shows, people buy a ticket to see topless women. Here, the entertainer is getting paid by the women who flash him.

Safely protected by his cowboy hat, Carrington also pulls off the joke that got Kathy Griffin scorched by Christian groups. Well, almost the same joke. Both comedians riff on entertainers who thank Jesus when they win awards. The difference is that Griffin used the phrase "Suck it Jesus." Carrington’s routine is closer to Griffin’s latest cable special, where she explains the controversial Emmy acceptance speech: "I don’t want to upset you Hamburger (Carrington’s made-up name for a rapper), but I don’t think Jesus had anything to do with that (stuff)."

He doesn’t even believe God gave him poison ivy for skipping church to work on a fence. "You think he’s got that kind of time?"

The 39-year-old Carrington, who closes a long stint at the MGM Grand on Saturday, managed the deft hat trick of carving out fame as the first "parental advisory" country comedian, then broadening his base through a family-friendly sitcom while not much toning down the act.

"I never chose a path, that I’m going to be this way or that way. I only chose funny. Whether it was clean or dirty didn’t matter," Carrington explained on the telephone last week. "I think at this point in time, the audiences that come out now allow me to talk about whatever, as long as it’s funny."

Maybe it’s the twangy delivery, or the big toothy overbite that recalls Charles Napier ("The Blues Brothers") or Burton Gilliam ("Blazing Saddles"), Hollywood’s familiar redneck stereotypes. Talking terrorists, he observes, "I gotta hand it to them boys, they’re awful damn committed."

The comedian is building a spread on the last undeveloped edge of suburban Tulsa, Okla., a perfect match for the geography of his material. In his perfectly creased jeans and Western shirt, Carrington explores the same domestic attitudes as suit-wearing opening act Mark Gross, who lives in Los Angeles and speaks of how crackheads will "rake your yard with a fork in 11 minutes" if you keep them busy.

Gross gets an unusually long half-hour set, and both comics speak of the constant diplomacy required to get sex in a marriage. You get married because you have fun with the other person, Carrington notes. But after a couple of years, "Fun starts packin’ its (stuff)," leaving behind "just you and her and complacency."

But, he says, "You’re sure to fall back in love when you get out of the shower and see yourself naked."

After a half-hour of stand-up, Carrington breaks out the guitar and is joined by piano sidekick Bob Hoban. He shifts into the safety of autopilot for novelty songs such as "Rhymes With Truck" ("Do you want to do something that …") and "Put Your Clothes Back On."

He croons odes to both the penis — complete with inflatable props — and breasts. "Titties are the most important thing in the world," Carrington declares, noting the "calming" effect they would have on international summit meetings.

They seem to have the opposite effect on comedy, and Carrington is only the latest to discover they’re a safe bet for a career on the Strip.

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0288.