How satisfying it is to watch an expert comic deal with a serious heckler.
It’s best when the heckler takes the hint, calms down, and the show goes on.
I cringe when it drags further than that.
The show stops, all attention is focused on the disruptor, and the tension builds.
Truth be told, it is probably best when hecklers are simply escorted from the room ASAP.
I tried to find a good video of a heckler getting owned to include after the jump, but they were all so raunchy I couldn’t do it.
The premise of it all makes no sense though.
Why would you go toe-to-toe in comedy and comebacks with someone who has been doing it professionally for a few decades?
That would be like – with no training – arguing against freedom with the faculty of the Mises Institute.
Who wants to fight a professional fighter?
One evening at the Abbey Cellar, I had my first experience with a serious heckler, who, sitting at the front table with his wife and another straight-looking couple, stood up and said, “See if you think this is funny,” and threw a glass of red wine on me. The problem for him was, at this point in the evening, the employees outnumbered the audience. A few seconds later, John McClure and the rough, tough bartender, an Irishman named Mike, appeared like centurions and escorted him out. Eventually, his friends slunk out, too. The expulsion had a downside: The audience was now one third as large and in shock, and remained in stunned silence for the rest of my show. Later, I developed a few defensive lines to use against the unruly: “Oh, I remember when I had my first beer,” and if that didn’t cool them off, I would use a psychological trick. I would lower my voice and continue with my act, talking almost inaudibly. The audience couldn’t hear the show, and they would shut the heckler up on their own.