The best thing you can say about “Miss March” is that it has the courage of its convictions. Unfortunately for viewers, those convictions seem to be a commitment to unbridled idiocy and a determination to offend everyone from epileptics to firefighters.

The two miscreants responsible for this crime against good taste are Zach Cregger and Trevor Moore. Not only did they give two of the more irritating performances on screen, but they also wrote and directed the picture. No doubt it was conceived after a beer-soaked Farrelly brothers film festival.

The story is preposterous, but it gives at least one of the duo a chance to mug his way through an obnoxious tribute to Jim Carrey. In the process, Moore makes Carrey the very picture of subdued restraint. On the other hand, Cregger is as compelling as paid-programming TV.

Moore plays Tucker, a high-school Lothario dedicated to a life of sexual conquest. Cregger plays Eugene, his best buddy and exact opposite. Eugene and his girlfriend Cindi (Raquel Alessi) have taken a vow of chastity and give lectures to middle-schoolers on the benefits of abstinence. However, Cindi’s not as committed as Eugene, and she persuades him to break his vow on prom night. The apprehensive Eugene gets drunk, falls down a flight of stairs and puts himself into a coma for four years.

So far the movie has just been distasteful and silly. Here, it goes into knuckle-headed overdrive. Tucker brings Eugene out of his coma by hitting him in the head with a baseball bat. In no time, the friends discover that Cindi has become a Playboy Playmate since Eugene’s accident. Tucker kidnaps Eugene from the hospital, and the two head for Los Angeles for a big party at the Playboy mansion in order to reunite Eugene with Cindi.

On the way, they’re chased by homicidal firefighters, Tucker’s enraged girlfriend and a foul-mouthed rapper played by Craig Robinson (aka Darryl from “The Office”).

The movie’s devotion to potty humor, coarse language and the degradation of women is unstinting. Hugh Hefner, Playboy magazine’s geriatric founder, appears long enough to advise Tucker that quality, not quantity, counts the most. It somehow seems like hollow advice coming from the legend who brought a sybaritic lifestyle to mainstream America and recently boasted of seven girlfriends.

Of course, vulgarity can be funny if it’s accompanied by wit and originality. In this case, vulgarity is left all by its lonesome.