If you've ever heard any of Carrington's cocksure, edgy comedy CDs, on which it certainly seems as though he's thoroughly loaded, laughing at himself, rolling quite blue, but always with good reason-- the guy is funny as hell-- you're probably also scratching your head at this lame attempt to turn him into the new Andy Griffith. I mean, you can sit through retread of crap after retread of crap, but this man needs a working venue, and this clearly isn't it. The writing is dumb, the pace is slow, the kids are cookie cutter cute and the wife has no presence. But they all stand out when you see what they've done to poor Rodney. If you think I'm being overly severe, go buy a copy of "Morning Wood" and hang on.
