Preceded by a parental advisory displayed like a blue ribbon at the county fair, this warped sitcom about a "normal" suburban family makes the crass cynicism of The Simpsons seem almost classy and sentimental by comparison. It's a sneering, mean-spirited show that exists to smash taboos and slaughter sacred cows. Creator Seth MacFarlane has no shame. He commonly relies on nudity, bloodthirsty slapstick and jokes about sodomy and bestiality to elicit chuckles from people growing desensitized to caustic cartoon humor.

The domestic dude of the title is a beer-swilling, porn-loving doofus named Peter Griffin. He lives in disharmony with wife Lois; teens Chris and Meg; his articulate, sociopathic toddler, Stewie (prone to spitting up homoerotic double entendres); and the most rational member of the clan, their talking dog, Brian.

This is must-see TV only for families that think watching a woman projectile vomit onto a kitchen table is rip-roaring fun. For the rest of us, it's an excuse to keep surfing. Episodes have included tasteless remarks about rape, AIDS, child molestation, bulimia, stroke-induced paralysis and people in wheelchairs—including James Brady, who was permanently disabled when an assassin tried to kill President Reagan.

Objectionable content isn't limited to indiscriminate one-liners and parenthetical sight gags. In one story thread, baby Stewie infiltrates a high school and, posing as a teenager, parks with a promiscuous girl. She takes her shirt off. He drops his pants and shouts, "I'm ready for sex!," which leads to an awkward exchange about penis size. Elsewhere, the family dog has apparently had sex with a young woman and produced a human son. The hound bonds with his delinquent offspring (who says "shut up, b--ch" to Lois and beats a monkey to death, leaving it in a pool of blood) by smoking marijuana with the boy. Viewers get hit with an average of 20 profanities per episode which, factoring in commercials, amounts to a choice word every minute.