COMEDY : A Laughing Gas : Comics keep the giggles coming at the Thousand Oaks Teen Center, while remembering their patrons have parents.

It is a slow night at Bob Zany’s Comedy Outlet. Sitting around tables at the Thousand Oaks Teen Center about 20 kids are sipping virgin margaritas and mai tais. Tiny paper umbrellas dangle from plastic glasses.

Comic Randy Levin, a 32-year-old ex-firefighter from New York City, is working the gymnasium.

“We could have done the show in my Toyota, but we needed this big room,” he says, gesturing around the near-empty space, “because we’re having a square dance here afterward.”

Laughter and hoots. Levin is on a roll, despite the sparse crowd. He flits wittily from Elvis to athletes, from cafeteria lunch to dating.

Donning a hair net from a bag he carries on stage, he barks, “You want the meat loaf?”

He’s a girl talking to the date from hell: “Excuse me, I have to go home, my whole family has been killed in a tornado.”

He needles a girl who isn’t laughing: “What’s the matter? Bad hair day?”

He tests the waters: “Did you know that in England, Randy means horny?”

Then he decides to go for comedic second base. Inquire about a wake-up call at a British hotel, he says, and you’ll get: “What time shall I knock you up in the morning?”

Oops! Brenda Coleman’s antennae shoot up. It isn’t the F-word, but it is darn close to the naughtiness and sex jokes that are no-nos here at the Teen Center, a part of the Conejo Recreation and Park District.

Comedy has been showing up at the center one Saturday a month since Coleman got it all going in May. In hiring professional comics, she dances a fine line between humor cool enough for kids and clean enough for their parents.

“The kids are here to have fun,” she said a few days after the event. “But we’re a public facility, and I want it to be squeaky clean.”

To call attention to the monthly event, Coleman sent out flyers to local schools advertising national acts, comics who have appeared on television and in films.

“We were trying to offer a more sophisticated program for the high school population,” she said. The kids are affluent and mobile, and often head for the San Fernando Valley or Los Angeles for the action.

Coleman hooked up with Bob Zany, a Los Angeles comedy booking agent, who agreed to supply an emcee and two professional comics once a month for $500. The only stipulations--the material had to appeal to teens and be free of profanity.

So far, it’s been both. About 70 kids 14 to 17 years old showed up for July’s comedy night, at $5 a head.

“It was wonderful,” Coleman said. “There were a couple of bold kids who played back and forth with the comics.” She expects attendance to pick up when school resumes, maybe to 100 kids a night.

“This is high quality,” she said of the acts. “Once the word gets out, we’ll draw them.” She knows of no other comedy club of its kind anywhere.

The gym at the new 14,000-square-foot Teen Center is transformed into a nightclub of sorts on comedy nights. A portable stage is rolled out, with two potted plants at either end. A backdrop goes up, painted with a sun and sunglasses.

About 10 tables--each with a bowl of pretzels and covered with white plastic tablecloths--are clustered near the stage. The room dims and a bank of colored lights illuminates the stage. A host seats guests, and teen volunteers serve the drinks. Although there’s a two-drink limit, they are provided as party favors.

Show time is at 8 p.m. Usually the night begins with a warm-up act, sometimes a local band. On this Saturday night a rapper named Courtney fails to show, leaving his sound man on stage flustered and alone.

An emcee, a comedian himself, comes on stage. This time it is Kirk Triance, a young guy with clean-cut good looks and a voice that would melt butter.

He is suddenly a radio announcer giving the traffic report from the inside of his house.

“Good morning. There’s a Sig Alert in the dining room, and congestion around the bathroom caused by Father and his new high-fiber diet. . . .”

From there it is on to cockroaches at a Motel 6. “And how big were they?” shouts a kid in the audience, taking the bait. “So big they came into the room, shook the bed and said, ‘We’ve got ants.’ ”

The microphone then goes to Craig Higgins, a 29-year-old in jeans and black high-top sneakers. More school cafeteria jokes and parent problems.

“The women in the cafeteria wear rubber gloves. If they’re afraid to get it on their hands . . .”

Stupid questions dads ask: “ ‘Do I need to get the belt? Do I make myself perfectly clear?’ I don’t know, shall we get out the Windex?”

The kids seem to love it all. They have come alone, with friends or with dates. Some are dressed up. Some are dressed down.

Nobody seems to have a better time than the two couples seated right in front of the stage. They laugh out loud from start to finish.

“I thought it was totally funny,” says Larry Bagby, 17, who attends Thousand Oaks High School. It is his third visit to the venue and is surprised more people haven’t shown up. He also confides that he can see himself as a comic someday. “I like to entertain.”

What do the parents think of comic relief for teens?

“I haven’t had any calls,” Coleman says.

* WHERE AND WHEN

Bob Zany’s Comedy Club appears at the Thousand Oaks Teen Center, 1275 E. Janss Road, from 8 to 10 p.m. on the last Saturday of each month. The next show is Sept. 28. Admission is $5. For more information, call 494-6664.