This week, Gregg Gethard tries out the evil side of comedy.

Last week Dave Walk wrote about how much he loved pro wrestling growing up and how funny it is. I have said, many times, that I think professional wrestling is America’s greatest form of art. But, I can assure you, I’m not.

There is no other form of performance that suspends the fourth wall as much as seen in wrestling. By now, most people know that pro wrestling is staged and planned out. However, that doesn’t stop people from buying in completely to what they’re seeing while they’re watching.

I would say that professional wrestling has had the greatest impact on my comedy style. This is because of how committed wrestlers are to their characters. I want, no matter what I’m performing, to have that level of commitment that makes the audience forget that what they’re watching is a theatrical act.

My favorite wrestlers, for the most part, have always been heels (bad guys). And, in particular, I am a fan of obnoxious, arrogant, rich jerk-offs who relish in the knowledge that they are indeed better than the audience in every way possible. I have taken my love of snob heels too far at many moments in my life.

One of my all-time favorite moments in my life came the very week that Terrell Owens announced that he was quitting on the Eagles, which made him one of the biggest villains in this city’s history. That weekend, I performed karaoke at McGillan’s, a giant frat-kid bar in Center City. I was really drunk before I took to the stage to sing AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” I was slurring my words a bit and screaming incredibly off-key into the microphone. A few girls in the front row started to boo me. I immediately told them to shut up in a real nasty voice. This gave me more boos, and it just clicked in my brain that I had to go 100% heel.

I stopped singing to say: “You people are booing me because you know how rich my father is.” This elicited more boos. Then I told the girls in the front row: “And you’re booing me because you wish you could have me BUT YOU CAN’T.” Soon, I was pelted with wadded up karaoke song request slips while I egged the crowd on bragging about my father’s wealth.

People were really up in arms. The karaoke DJ repeatedly warned me to stop what I was doing. But I was just completely locked into the moment and had to run with it. So finally, I stopped singing, smirked to the crowd and said: “Now I know why Terrell Owens won’t play in this shithole city.”

As soon as I said it, I clicked back into reality and realized that this might have caused my imminent death. Insulting Eagles fans in Philly is never a good idea; it’s an even worse idea exactly 48 hours after a dipshit wide receiver pisses all over the city. Luckily, the crowd just decided to chant, “Assss-hoooole” at me as I walked off the stage.

This ranks as one of my all-time favorite moments in my life. And that type of reaction – not necessarily potentially violent, but with everyone completely buying into what I’m doing – is what I’m always striving for.

My “Greggulator” persona has been largely formed by heel pro wrestlers, with a big nod to Steve Martin as well. My whole catchphrase and hand gesture bit is completely stolen from pro wrestling, where characters have trademarked lines like “Finally, The Rock has come back to Worcester.” I also like to tell the audience that they’re poor and/or ignorant. It usually gets a good chuckle, but sometimes people think it’s completely obnoxious. Either way, it’s something I want.

Last night, I went to the NE Comedy Cabaret’s open mic night. The crowd was really small and fatigued; I hit traffic on the way up and arrived late. I decided I had to really go in strong with my act to get the audience’s attention.

After my introduction, I went into my BoyzTown boy band song. The mic cord let me go a little bit towards the crowd. There was a girl (another performer who I don’t know) in the front row, so I started to croon the song to her. Towards the end, the lyrics get creepy: I repeat, “No one here gets out alive” in a psychotic hushed voice. Last night, I actually whispered this in her ear. I pretty much tormented her.

I then followed up with my hypnosis bit. After some cajoling, the same girl took to the stage with me. I held my filthy “hypnosis sock” right in her face. Then I told her that I was now under her control. At first, she punched me in the arm. And then afterwards, she took my baby powder and dumped it all over the top of my head.

It was textbook pro wrestling. I, as a heel, picked on an innocent person. This person then got the courage to fight back and gained revenge against me after her humiliation. A good heel always likes to put the face (good guy) over at the end.

Gregg’s monthly storytelling/sketch show, BEDTIME STORIES, is tonight! [show info]

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