Swear Jar, the first sketch comedy show at the Annoyance to be directed by its founder Mick Napier, plays like a traditional Second City sketch revue with one exception: At a Second City show, characters don’t sodomize a gear shift in attempt to achieve “total clarity.” Come to think of it, we’ve never seen a mainstage show in which a pubescent girl wipes her menstrual blood on a bichon frise, nor does the e.t.c. ever touch upon getting finger blasted in the back of a Things Remembered. Then again, the Annoyance doesn’t have to worry about pleasing red state tourists and prom groups from Orland Park. As a result, Swear Jar is a very funny show and a return to form for Napier who’s concurrent revue at the Second City mainstage, Taming of the Flu, lacks bite.

Call Swear Jar the John Waters version of a Second City revue, and the further the ensemble, who are clearly off-of-their-rockers and loving it, pushes the envelope, the better it gets. In one scene, two lesbian mommies equitably disperse their love amongst their melange of interracial children, including one who bursts suddenly out of a coma. In another, a chipper bagger at Trader Joe’s finally cracks under pressure. Two seniors celebrate their 50th anniversary by reminiscing about murdering their first-born child in one particularly funny sketch and in another, Damien, a pussy guru, offers love advice.

Much of the ensemble is doing fantastic work here. In one musical number, early nineties mall culture is spoofed (including jabs at Clinton-era fixtures like the Chess King and Z. Cavaricci). During a break in the music, one crestfallen teen delivers a monologue about his own suicide as the rest of the ensemble looks on with glazed eyes. But watch how the very funny Chris Witaske reacts to the guy’s every word with a mixture of shock and pity. Ditto Colleen Murray and Brian Wilson who engage in a Virgina Woolf-style meltdown with total abandon. It’s awesome stuff. Aidy Bryant chalks of a handful of memorable moments of her own, including the aforementioned scene in which she plays a tween with a “flow” problem.

But for all Napier’s handiwork in getting his eight-person ensemble (note the gender equity among the cast) to go for the gusto, the show could use a bit of trimming. Swear Jar clocks in at two hours. It’s too much. A handful of sketches just aren’t worthy. For example, a scene in which a robbery victim turns the tables on his recalcitrant attacker, felt a bit like the kind of newbie shtick we’d see straight out of a level five writing program. Ditto a recurring sketch titled, “Honest Moments in Presidential History.” Even some of the finer work here ends on the most awkward and head-scratching moments. What gives?

Nevertheless, the best material in Swear Jar makes for an intelligent, rip-roaring showcase that takes the Second City-style revue and gives it a perverted, giddy twist. Mick Napier’s formidable talents here recalls the kind of daring sketch he was directing in shows like Paradigm Lost some 15 years ago and for the most part, it’s a happy reunion.