Back in '72, on the Class Clown album, George Carlin changed the face of comedy. His groundbreaking routine "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television" enumerated terms that, by simply passing through your lips, will "curve your spine, grow hair on your hands and maybe even bring, God help us, peace without honor." Today's hardest working stand-up ruffled more than a few feathers back then. The Federal Communication Commission (FCC) even prepared a transcript of Carlin's entire bit to induce a Supreme Court ruling on whether the commission "has any power to regulate a broadcast that is indecent but not obscene."

Needless to say, Carlin endured, only to push the boundaries of acceptable comedic content even farther. One of the funniest things about this online transcript (which contains a few small inaccuracies that still don't undercut the hilarity of the monologue) is that it's presented "for educational value only." This irony surely wouldn't be lost on Carlin - sorry, I'm tryin' to learn about first amendment rights but I'm too busy laughin'1x Interestingly, though the items on GC's list are still largely forbidden on network TV, times do change - we're sure we've heard at least a couple of the seven deadly terms on NYPD Blue.A few years after Carlin's wild observations hit the streets, another comic visionary emerged to blur the lines between shtick and reality in a radically new manner. That's right, Andy Kaufman puzzled audiences by, among other things, wrestling women and slipping effortlessly into several alter egos. When he got beat up on live television no one really knew whether he was goofing around or being pummeled for real. Even when he died suddenly of lung cancer at age 35, Kaufman's prior fondness for inducing crowd discomfort during performances caused many to think he was pulling the ultimate practical joke. A stunning example of Andy's against-the-grain antics came one evening in early-1981 when he hosted the live TV program Fridays. Cooperative and cordial during rehearsals, when the cameras rolled Kaufman deliberately destroyed the show. We'd tempt you with the gory details but we're reluctant to spoil the surprise.

Speaking of comedians' abortive forays into television, does anyone remember The Richard Pryor Show? Umm-hmm, that's what we thought. Lasting only a month, the weekly 1977 series proved beyond reasonable doubt that any stand-up comic with a penchant for working blue - we ain't talkin' about Seinfeld here - should never be given a slot on network TV (sadly, Carlin's dreadful '90s show on Fox was still more evidence). Read about Pryor's four-episode debacle, during which the star and the network had vastly different priorities, and compare it to Kaufman's strangely similar Fridays gig. Then move on to find out how, once he reached his commercial peak, Pryor always got his way. Emerging in earnest as a formidable comic presence in the 1990s is actor/ stand-up funnyman Denis Leary. Here's another sharp-tongued talent that doesn't give a damn for anything but cigarettes, red meat, and . . .maybe his family. In a web reprint of a riotous piece he penned for Details, Leary recounts the strangeness of 1993, the year he started to break through and earn a bit of notoriety. Suffice it to say, any tale that mentions both Sharon Stone and Motley Crue ain't gonna be a yawner. Also, Leary's 1994 Playboy interview meshes old-fashioned yuks, Irish pride, wry social satire and a sincere, childlike love of hockey.