Sliced to the funny bone

"CSI: Crime Scene Investigation " has been blamed for many a social ill since it premiered back in 2000. Someone somewhere is probably holding the CBS procedural responsible for Paris Hilton, as well as for the glamorization of TV gore and the unreasonable expectations of juries. But the series that made the feng shui of rubber entrails into both an art form and a ratings magnet is oh-so-very misunderstood.

In the same way that Soylent green is people!, I hereby declare that "CSI" is a comedy!

Certainly "CSI" -- and I mean only the original and best of the "CSI" franchise -- can be darkly dramatic, but it is just as often droll, kooky, meta-witty, and laugh-out-loud funny. Amid the absurdist spectacle that is Las Vegas, the show plies its unique brand of humor to those of us who are watching for it. Of course "CSI" and its creator, Anthony E. Zuiker , aren't the first to link bloody gross-out to laughter; Quentin Tarantino, for one, has been hugely influential in the world of splatter comedy, and his 2005 writing-directing stint on "CSI" was a nod to that. But "CSI" has forged its own style of TV gallows humor that's sick in all the right ways.

A few recent episodes, all available at CBS.com and through digital on-demand, have reminded me of how playful the "CSI" writers can be. "Ending Happy " is a brilliant hour that upends the entire TV-forensics genre while tracking the death of a creep found floating in a pool at a desert whorehouse. The story is filled with ridiculously stupid characters, including the owner of the house, played by Peter Stormare . Turns out no one dunnit, or everyone dunnit, or, as Detective Nick Stokes summarizes, "The lawn chair did it."

Another mischievous hour, "Lab Rats ," has the support crew seeking clues about a killer while secretly gathered in Grissom 's office. Leading them is Hodges , an oddball who bids online for a "Three's Company" board game and is played by comic Wallace Langham from "The Larry Sanders Show ."

Often when "CSI" introduces comedy, it's not obvious -- it's there for the taking. Last week, in "Leapin' Lizards ," there is a murder among a cult who believe that all authority figures are alien reptiles. In one scene, we see Henry Kissinger morphing into a reptile on the cult's website. You can feel the "CSI" writers getting punchy, but the episode is never overtly light-hearted, and most viewers are probably just creeped out by the whole lizard thing. So many of the episodes similarly milk dry, almost invisible comedy out of odd little subcultures, including snuff filmmaking, sex-fetish clubs, and, in an all-time "CSI" classic called "Fur and Loathing ," PAFCON -- the Plushies and Furries Convention.

Apparently some people are turned on by wearing animal costumes. 'Nuff said.

The "CSI" Comedy Hall of Fame also includes the Thanksgiving 2005 hour called "Dog Eat Dog " that happens to be reairing this Saturday at 9 p.m. on Channel 4. The writers are willfully grossing us out, and probably giggling about it, as we're shown the contents of the stomach of a man who died from overeating. I'm convinced the episode was specifically created to be delivered to viewers whose stomachs are crammed with turkey. In a montage set to Eminem 's "Big Weenie ," newbie CSI Greg does a study of hot dogs based on the sample found in the dead man's stomach.

Much of the comedy on "CSI" comes out of the investigators' responses to the cases, as they gaze upon the decadence of Las Vegas, eyebrow s raised. Almost the entire cast is fluent in ironic asides. These detectives have seen it all, and then they are faced with something -- a head in a vending machine with a snake in its mouth -- that throws them anew. As the caustic Captain Brass , Paul Guilfoyle is the perfect straight man. Watching him use his hard questioning techniques on the fickle working girls in "Ending Happy" is a silly pleasure: "If you're lying to me, even a little bit," he yells, "I'm going to come down on you like a ton of bricks."

And Robert David Hall is the show's secret comic weapon, as the businesslike coroner Dr. Robbins . He pulls viscid guts out of cadavers without a wince, but flees at the sight of a rat.

Nearing the end of season seven, "CSI" reveals signs of burnout now and then. Like other aging TV procedurals, it occasionally retreads crimes and strains to give detectives personal story lines. But if "CSI" can keep its sense of humor, it is bound to stay more creatively youthful than its deteriorating counterparts, particularly the "Law & Order" shows. Indeed, laughter is the best medicine, even when it comes to shark bites.

Matthew Gilbert can be reached at gilbert@globe.com. For more on TV, visit boston.com/ae/tv/blog/.