TWO SHOWS THAT BASH FUNNY BONE

They’re pulling hair on Sundays.

On “The McLaughlin Group,” they do it with words. On “Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling,” nicknamed “GLOW,” they do it with real hair.

These may be the two funniest and feistiest shows--Biff! Bam! Pow!--on TV. They’re certainly the campiest.

One is a half-hour public-affairs series from Washington--with battling males--usually at 10 a.m. on KNBC Channel 4. The other is an hour public-spectacle series from the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas--with battling females--at noon on KCOP Channel 13.

Both are political, preposterous--and just terrific fun!

Whether it’s the incessant haggling on “The McLaughlin Group” or Spike burning wholesome Debby Debutante’s face on “GLOW.” Whether it’s Robert Novak’s reactionary spewings from Washington or Americana wrestling in Vegas for patriotic glory against the wicked Palestina.

No matter. These syndicated programs are TV at its exquisitely raunchiest, trashiest and tongue-in-cheekiest. Laughs don’t get any bigger or better than this.

On paper, “The McLaughlin Group” reads like any other journalists-discussing-issues-of-the-day series. Ho hum.

Creator/producer/host John McLaughlin, who is the Washington editor for National Review, dashes through the week’s major news events with a talking-heads panel of four other Washington journalists. The regulars are syndicated columnist Novak; Morton Kondracke, a senior editor of the New Republic, and veteran Baltimore Evening Sun reporter Jack Germond.

There’s also a revolving slot (named the Pat Buchanan Seat after former panelist Buchanan), that is most often filled by Fred Barnes, another senior editor for the New Republic.

On the screen, “The McLaughlin Group” is a circus.

McLaughlin--who has somehow managed to synthesize in himself the personas of a stern schoolmaster and jut-jawed Il Duce--runs his show like a despot. He has supplanted the traditional talking heads with shouting heads--a half hour of arguing. And, by his own design, the winner of every argument is McLaughlin, who may be, pound for pound, the best entertainer on TV.

Here he was on one show, utterly dismayed that his panelists again had let him down in not identifying the week’s biggest Iran- contra item:

“Once again, I’ve asked you all unsuccessfully . . . what’s the big Irangate story of the week. Once again, you have all failed. I’m saddened, but I’m not surprised. This is the big Iran item of the week. . . .” Because he says so.

Like so many other things in Washington, “The McLaughlin Group” is not to be taken seriously. It’s a charade, a contest to see who can be the most outrageous--30 minutes of delightful nonsense.

No wonder that, in many respects, it’s a twin of “Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling”:

--Both shows feature low blows, hollering and swell acting. If McLaughlin and his boys play their tacky roles to the shrill hilt, so do “GLOW” announcer David B. McLane and his girls. As entertainment, in fact, McLaughlin’s and McLane’s groups and their verbal locks and headlocks are almost interchangeable.

--Both are shamefully sexist. Only rarely does “The McLaughlin Group” invite a female journalist to integrate and freshen its old-boy environment. Meanwhile, “GLOW” is a male-targeted show whose hokey, flesh-flashing grapplers mostly wear skimpy costumes.

--Both are rigidly stereotypical in their outlook, seeing the world largely through arch-conservative eyes. Not unlike most TV public-affairs series, “The McLaughlin Group” stars are generally far to the right of center, with an occasional Hodding Carter or Michael Kinsley (editor of the New Republic) allowed in as a token liberal. McLaughlin and Novak are starched-collar conservatives. Kondracke is a sort of arch moderate. Germond is a centrist on his most liberal days, belying his body, which lists to the right.

Mocking the male-wrestling circuits, meanwhile, “GLOW” abounds in stereotypes of its own. Its equivalent of Commie-stomping Robert Novak, for example is Attache, the Mean Marine, a sneering Ramboette who wears combat fatigues and packs a .45. She’s sometimes paired with Corporal Kelly. Their opposite number is blond Ninotchka, a scheming Soviet who projects a pre- glasnost vision of the Kremlin.

How rotten is Ninotchka? So rotten that she, the battle-garbed Palestina (who is billed as a Syrian terrorist) and that “hot Latin fighter” Spanish Red (who is probably a Sandinista) recently ganged up on poor red-white-and-blue Americana.

--On both shows, moreover, speed is essential. You have to be fast of foot to survive on “GLOW” and fast of tongue to survive on “The McLaughlin Group.” With McLaughlin, you talk fast or you don’t talk at all.

He sits in the middle--flanked by Kondracke (whom he calls Mor- tawn ) and Novak on his right and Germond and the Buchanan Seat on his left--scowling, jabbing his finger, spitting out questions and admonishing his panelists, all accomplished with an amazing straight face.

McLaughlin is a human hyphen whose standards of brevity are bizarre even for clock-conscious TV. One word equals a sentence, one sentence a speech. Here is an excerpt from a discussion about President Reagan’s participation in the recent Economic Summit. We pick it up just after Kondracke has cited what Reagan and his staff didn’t accomplish.

McLaughlin: They didn’t get that.

Kondracke: No, I--right.

McLaughlin: In fact, West Germany was, what?

Kondracke: Right. Now....

McLaughlin: Was what?

Kondracke: Was.. . .

McLaughlin: Resistant!

Kondracke: Yes....

McLaughlin: At best.

Kondracke: Now the thing that you....

McLaughlin: “Adamant!”

Typically, there comes a point during every “McLaughlin Group” when everyone shouts simultaneously, rendering the show even more unintelligible than usual. That is inevitably cut off by McLaughlin: “Let’s get out! We’ll be right back with predictions.”

Oh, boy, predictions. “The McLaughlin Group” in depth.

McLaughlin: Predictions, Barnes.

Barnes makes a prediction about Reagan’s policies. “Wow!” mocks McLaughlin.

Novak: John, two presidential notes. Democratic Sen. Dale Bumpers of Arkansas within five days will announce his presidential campaign. Republican: Guess who is reconsidering and may enter?

McLaughlin: Quickly.

Novak: Pat Buchanan.

Mclaughlin: Wow!

Novak: If Jack Kemp doesn’t get moving.

McLaughlin: Quickly.

Actually, McLaughlin and his boys could learn a few things from GLOW about the powers of persuasion.

The recent tag-team match between the Heavy Metal Sisters (Spike and Chainsaw) and The Cheerleaders (Debbie Debutante and Susie Spirit), for example, was a rematch of a previous clash when Spike tried to bite off Debbie Debutante’s toe.

The rematch was brutal, with Susie and Debbie ultimately overcoming the dirty tactics of The Heavy Metal Sisters. Debbie had finished her victory cartwheels and was strutting with her arms lifted in triumph when Spike--a blond hag--somehow flashed a flame at Debbie and severely burned her face.

“Spike has burned Debbie Debutante’s face!” announcer McLane screamed as distraught Susie Spirit bolted into the ring to assist her crumpled partner. “Oh, nohhhh. Oh, my, this is a disgrace. Get somebody here, please. Debbie Debutante’s face has been burned.”

Poor Debbie hid her hideously burned face in a towel as paramedics carried her off on a stretcher, while Susie bawled and Spike and Chainsaw cheered.

There have been other classic “GLOW” matches: Tina Ferrari and Ashley (T & A) battling Chicago’s streetwise Soul Patrol, Sally the Farmer’s Daughter and Olympia facing those tramps Hollywood & Vine, Matilda the Hun besting Mt. Fiji and Spanish Red versus Little Feather, who seemed on the verge of losing her bra top as well as the match.

Yet nothing topped the international significance of the recent “Syrian Stretcher Match” between the upstanding Americana and the vicious Palestina.

“This is America versus Syria,” McLane announced, as the crowd’s chants of “U.S.A., U.S.A.” filled the big room. Palestina began by spitting at Americana. Then she bit Americana on the calf. It was horrible. Americana’s goodness ultimately prevailed, however, as she ended the epic struggle by strapping the battered Palestina into a stretcher and having her carted from the ring.

But not before Palestina again spat at Americana and snarled in broken English: “You will meet me in hell, Americana!” Lousy terrorist.

TV on Sunday: politics and parody, brevity and levity.