revels in a sort of childish savagery, like a kid making misery in the lives of dolls. You feel nothing at all for the characters. In one recurring sketch, a doctor (named Simon Garfunkel) performs stand-up at a hospital's open-mic night. It's supposed to be bad, utilizing the anti-comedy schtick so popular in the last decade. But the irony is lost in the subpar delivery: In this setting, so absurdly absurd, where the flat jokes really fall flat, everything cancels itself out. What is supposed to be so bad it's funny comes off as so average it's bad.