The comeback kidder.

Jim J. Bullock says his recent drug arrest forced him to evaluate his life. Now he's back on his feet in L.A.'s When Pigs Fly.

With roles like the goofy Monroe Ficus on the hit '80s sitcom Too Close for Comfort, Jim J. Bullock has made a franchise out of kooky quips and over-the-top facial contortions. But there has been little levity in the actor's life the past few years. A careening career and the death of his lover to AIDS-related complications sent him to escape into a fog of booze and drugs, culminating in his tabloid-reported February arrest for crystal meth possession in West Hollywood, Calif. "I never believed in bad luck," says longtime friend Joan Rivers. "But if anybody has had it in our business, he is one of them." But Bullock doesn't blame fate for his troubles. "That drug robbed me of my life," confides the actor, who says he's changing his ways. "There's a time to play and work, and I had my time to play."

Bullock, 44, is putting his newly clear mind--and trademark wackiness--into a current Los Angeles production of Howard Crabtree's When Pigs Fly, Crabtree's irreverent award-winning musical revue. In it Bullock sings while dressed up as a vanity mirror and as a nearsighted Cupid. "It's like Les Miserables," he quips. "Very, very deep."

Bullock has long had a sense for irony. Raised a Baptist by ultraconservative parents in Texas, he planned on becoming an evangelist singer. But after attending Oklahoma Baptist University briefly on a music scholarship, the then--deeply closeted star wanna--be dropped out and headed to Los Angeles, where he joined the ranks of actor-waiters. "I've got a nice voice, but there's nothing unique about it," he says. "I knew my comedy was unique."

In 1980 his knack for slapstick and spitfire repartee landed him a six-year run on Comfort. When the show ended, Bullock was rich and famous, and his stock rose further when he proved himself a modern-day Paul Lynde in a version of Hollywood Squares. Although Joan Rivers had Lynde's former center square on the game show, Rivers often seemed to be eclipsed by Bullock's wit during the show's three years. "Being protective of [Rivers], I decided either to sign him or kill him," says Bill Sammeth, who managed Rivers at the time. "So I signed him." By 1989 Bullock was back in prime time in the fuzzy sitcom ALF.

The next year, Bullock's Bible-thumping parents discovered his sexual orientation on their 50th wedding anniversary. During a church celebration his mother cornered his best female friend and asked if her son is gay. It was not the first time the question had come up. "You should ask Jim," was the response, and that was all the confirmation his mother needed. "By then I was actually singing a medley of songs my mom and dad had courted to," he says. "I'm singing, and my parents are just weeping, and then I'm weeping 'cause I've broken their hearts on their 50th anniversary."

Bullock lay low until 1996, when he nabbed a dream job: cohost of a nationally syndicated talk show opposite former televangelist Tammy Faye (Bakker) Messner. Although the pairing of the blush-heavy born-again Christian and out-there comic seemed odd, the two became friends. "As long as we avoided the issue in public, she had no problem with my being gay," he says. "But the press pitted us against each other." For a time Bullock shuttled between his gabby gig and a key role in End of the World Party, a play about issues affecting gay men in the late '80s. "His character was the heart of the play, and Jim was the heart of the cast," says Chuck Ranberg, Party's playwright and a producer of TV's Frasier.

But the normally gregarious Bullock's heart would soon sink. Although the talk show was a mild success, Messner quit after just six weeks, citing the stress of a rigorous taping schedule, leaving Bullock in the lurch. Plans for a New York City run of Party fizzled. And the same year, his lover of six years, John Casey, whom he had been quietly taking care of all the while, died. (In 1984 Bullock learned that he himself is HIV-positive.) Flippant jokes could no longer lift him. "I got lost and confused," he says. "I didn't know if I wanted to stay in the business. I had a nasty taste in my mouth. I decided, Fuck it, and I started to party."

And that he did. Bullock says he became a "circuit queen," and crystal took over his life. In 1998 he entered rehab and thought he had emerged a clean man. But earlier this year he slipped and began using crystal again the week leading up to his birthday. On February 17 a humiliated Bullock was arrested for possession of drugs outside a West Hollywood bar he had just left.

The arrest was heaven-sent, says Bullock. When he was caught, "there was absolute guilt all over my face," he says. "In my police report they write how remorseful I was. I admitted it." Ever sardonic, Bullock adds that the episode also boosted his recognition. "If anything, it helps my professional life," he says. "Having read about my HIV status in tabloids, there are people who thought I was dead."

Although the media jumped on Bullock's bust with gusto (he was even skewered in a sketch on Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update), he says his parents remain unaware of the most recent turn of events in their son's life. But he does appreciate the phone message from former TV cohort Messner. "When I was arrested she called and said, `Jimmy, I want you to know I'm praying for you. You're such a good person.'"

With such blessings, a humbled Bullock boasts a new albeit guarded sense of optimism. Of his recent drug bout, he admits, "I can't say I'll never slip." But he is determined "to be sober and have my senses"--if only to prove pals like Rivers, who calls Bullock "one of the major comedic forces," right. "I want to be seen in a different light," he says. "I'm not saying I'm a brilliant actor, but there's more to me than what I've been shown to be."

His part in Pigs, which allows him to soar back to singing, is a step in that perhaps loftier direction. But there's a happy-serious tune Bullock belts at the close of the revue that rings true for the put-upon funnyman in more ways than one. It's called "Laughing Matters."

Zachary is an Emmy award-winning television producer and author of the serial "Dating Hell" for gay.com.