Doctors would call it the perfect release. I refer to it as the perfect laugh. My wife calls it just another Sunday night. However we view this, one fact remains: the irrevocable truth that I achieved oneness of comedy, chili dogs and prescription cold and sinus medication.

I owe it all to three men, Nick Swardson, Michael Ian Black and Steven Wright.

This month, Comedy Central is releasing CDs from some of the top comedic talents in its arsenal. Some are audio versions of Comedy Central specials; others are the comedian's routines from other performances.

Three drew my attention immediately: Swardson's “Party,” Black's “I am a Wonderful Man” and Wright's “I Still Have a Pony.”

Listening to these three can be likened to eating a three-course meal, though you need to listen in the correct order. Like any good appetizer, Black is juicy light. His comedy is thoughtful, almost artful in nature. His jokes verge on being dry but somehow manage to be plebian enough that you won't feel stupid listening.

Main course is Swardson. He is funny, simple and the closest thing to doing a keg stand without actually doing one. There is no thought involved with Nick; you listen, you relate, and you laugh.

Dessert is the smoothest comedy around. People often mistake Wright's humor for dry and whimsical because of his voice and the way he delivers his lines. Not so. He is exciting and chocolaty. His jokes are so obvious, you sit for a second thinking, “My God, who knew an empty canvas could be so funny?”

But you must be careful while listening. Enter the perfect scenario. I busted deadline on this column, so I had to make up time. Sunday night, I was fighting a wicked mean sinus infection and throwing back chilidogs like nobody's business. I needed to listen to these CDs right quick. So I blasted them at the same time as I sat to write. Around the seventh chilidog and third gulp of medicine, I felt the rumbling. Something was happening, something scary and cautious. We were going to need a bigger boat.

Then I heard what could only be described as a loud gong. I came around hours later in the hospital, still laughing incoherently. I was told that I had, all at the same time, sneezed, burped, pissed myself, messed my pants and thrown up.

Which led to further laughing, so much that I fell off the bed. When I came to the second time, I realized that the perfect laugh had come during the simultaneous punch line delivery of Black's Halloween routine, Swardson's babies are just small drunk people routine and Wright's mumble song.

I can only thank God that I did not have an old Richard Pryor or Lewis Black also playing somewhere in the back. My head might have caved in.