Pressing the flesh is part of any politician’s job, particularly around election day. But the sort of flesh-pressing in “Election Day,” Josh Tobiessen’s shaggy candidate tale, requires more than hand sanitizer.

Mr. Tobiessen, a young playwright fresh out of grad school, has tossed ecoterrorism, flying knives, and good old-fashioned sex farce into an undemanding but enjoyably goofy public service announcement. His nimble director, Jeremy Dobrish, and his attractive young cast stay tirelessly on message as they enact the zaniest get-out-the-vote campaign since Borat asked an undecided voter in Mississippi to swear on the eyes of her child.

Mr. Dobrish ratchets both the tempo and the volume up to maximum wackiness mode in the opening scenes, as the unmotivated Adam (Adam Green) and his nymphomaniac sister, Cleo (Halley Feiffer), are each pressured to take action on Election Day. Adam’s workaholic girlfriend, Brenda (Katharine Powell), wants him to hand out fliers pillorying the mayoral candidate Jerry Clark (Lorenzo Pisoni), while Cleo’s eco-terrorist pal Edmund (Michael Ray Escamilla) is focused instead on blowing up SUVs.

Despite all the vitriol on display, we hear nothing about Jerry Clark’s policies beyond the fleeting mention of a proposed casino. Nor do we even learn the name of the other candidate. But we meet Jerry. Boy, do we meet Jerry, a glad-hander who arrives at Brenda and Adam’s apartment, morphing effortlessly from nemesis to gigolo to the most content kidnapping victim this side of O. Henry. (“The Ransom of Red State”?) Even doped up on painkillers and handcuffed to a headboard, Jerry can still make that weird pen-clench-minus-the-pen hand gesture beloved by so many politicians. Mr. Dobrish and his versatile set designer, Steven Capone, derive particular satisfaction from that portable headboard, spotlighting Mr. Pisoni’s considerable physical comedy skills in the process.

As in any farce worth its salt, every character behaves strictly according to type no matter how baroque the plot or how counterproductive the results. Brenda bristles, Jerry cajoles, Cleo tries to sleep with everyone, and Edmund hatches absurd plots. Only Adam — who initially has a hard time motivating himself to change out of his pajama pants, let alone vote — develops in any sort of concrete way, albeit via absurdly self-destructive behavior.

That his actions make any sense at all is a testament to Mr. Green’s agreeably lunk-headed performance but also to Mr. Tobiessen’s airtight construction. Mr. Dobrish knows good plotting when he sees it, and he and his able cast visibly relax as “Election Day” finds an appropriate narrative home for the pileup of kinky couplings and goofball plot reversals, including a memorably gruesome sight gag near the end. Even the slightly less compelling plot threads, notably an abortive flirtation between Brenda and Edmund, pay off in a masterfully constructed finale.

Right wing politicians with powerful daddies come in for abuse, but so do radical environmentalists and indifferent slackers. In fact, the only real dangers in Mr. Tobiessen’s chaotic and oddly civic-minded world stem from apathy. “That’s the beauty of this wonderful country in which we live,” the unflappable Jerry says upon learning that he doesn’t have Adam’s vote. “Freedom to make bad decisions.”

All five characters make their share of bad or at least questionable decisions; good behavior equals bad farce. But for all of Messrs. Tobiessen’s and Dobrish’s bawdy antics, their swipes at the political process play it pretty safe. This becomes most apparent in the brief moments between scenes, as the stagehands manipulate Mr. Capone’s protean set to the sound of a jukebox’s worth of politically minded popular music. Public Enemy, Green Day, Gil Scott-Heron, the Clash — mainstream listeners have enjoyed these artists for decades, often despite their emphatic, even incendiary messages. Compared to songs like “American Idiot” and “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” kooky eco terrorists and stars-and-stripes boxer shorts seem a bit flimsy.

Still, not every bit of political entertainment needs to go for the jugular. Think of “Election Day” as a Fourth Way, a dizzy new form of triangulation capable of accommodating tree huggers and Type A yuppies alike. Kissing babies can certainly win votes, but judging from a very informal straw poll (i.e., the scandalized whoops of laughter at a recent performance), kissing grown-ups also has its advantages.

Until August 25 (Broadway and 76th Street, 212-246-4422).