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So while Tommy is still haunted by Jimmy's ghost, there's just as much time devoted to hilariously frank, often banal workplace conversations on everything from posing for a beefcake firemen's calendar to the Venus Butterfly. (And no, they're not referring to anything in the lepidoptera species.) It's hardly PC, but Rescue Me provides a primetime rarity: an honest examination of the male psyche that goes much deeper than the slick musings on shows like HBO's Entourage. ''The guys might not be the most sensitive men,'' admits Pasquale, ''but we offend everyone universally.'' And if this means usually portraying women in two distinct dimensions — e.g., ''bitchy'' and ''slutty'' — so be it. Even Andrea Roth, who plays Tommy's shrewish wife, Janet, knew that she had to accept those terms when she signed on. ''Sex and the City portrayed men through a woman's eyes,'' she shrugs. ''It had a very distinct voice and vision, and we have to have that too.''

Despite the graphic content and some truly bizarre season 2 subplots (what was Tommy's caftan-clad uncle doing with that pint-size gay black horse-whisperer, anyway?), Rescue Me's healthy ratings continued to climb last season, and 3.6 million fans watched as Tommy and Janet were rocked by the hit-and-run death of their son Connor in the finale last September. Life-altering events like this have made Tommy — a pill-popping, skirt-chasing alcoholic who beats up men (and sometimes women) with alarming regularity — one of TV's most intriguing antiheroes. (Leary's Golden Globe-nominated performance — his richest and most nuanced to date — doesn't hurt, either.) ''What people hook into is that he's trapped by his inability to express himself emotionally,'' says producer Tolan, who previously worked on Leary's critically acclaimed but low-rated 2001 ABC drama The Job. ''He's able to show the pain and isolation of that and the comedy of a guy who is actively screwing up his life.''

Things haven't gotten much better as season 3 picks up: Tommy and Janet's on-again, off-again marriage is on the rocks, and she has a new, very controversial man. Teddy — who killed the driver responsible for Connor's death — is bound for death row, Kenny's been duped out of his life savings, and Jerry struggles to care for his Alzheimer's-afflicted wife. Franco continues to grapple with fatherhood, Garrity is dating Tommy's alcoholic sister (O'Neal), and perpetual underling Probie looks for love and respect in unexpected places. (Here's a hint: The guys at the station aren't going to be thrilled.) Further complicating matters will be the three strong women, Sarandon, O'Neal, and Tomei — who emerges as Tommy's former sister-in-law later in the season — invading the boys' club. ''Tatum is a friend of all of ours, [and] Marisa goes way back with a bunch of us,'' says Leary, who approached the women to be on the series; Sarandon's partner, Tim Robbins, is also a chum. ''The world is too small!''

And yet, these days, it seems to be in the palm of Leary's tobacco-stained hands. So do the glittery guest stars, critical acclaim, and loyal viewership mean that after two decades in the business, the misanthropic comic has finally arrived? Leary couldn't care less, to be honest. What matters is he got to come to work and stare at naked women for a good portion of his day. ''That's one of the easiest, most fun things for all of us,'' he admits. ''The comic idiocy of men!''