Chris and Rutgers

I loved college. I got drunk, I hung out with the most fucked up, funny people I've ever met in my life, I committed petty acts of vandalism without fear of reproach and basically did whatever I wanted. (Get drunk in the computer lab and look at porn? Go right ahead! Sleep in on a Thursday until 4:30 p.m. after a night of playing Coach K College Basketball with some cokeheads? Sure thing!) And despite the many semesters where I barely escaped academic probation, I actually enjoyed some of my classes and professors. I'm still trying to pathetically hold onto those years, now that I am a full-time employee and grad student at my alma mater.

My brother was an overachiever in high school. Good grades, heavily involved in all kinds of clubs (including high school musicals), vague popularity. He had a stellar high school resume and had his pick of colleges. The one he chose was Rutgers.

This makes sense, being it's the state university of the great state of New Jersey. But from the minute our mom unpacked a box for him in his dorm room, Chris hated college and spent nothing but his time complaining and looking for any way out of it. Even though a ridiculous amount of his best friends and his girlfriend went to the same school.

How two brothers could have a college experience on opposite sides of the coin has always baffled me. It's not like Rutgers totally sucks -- I mean, I didn't go to school there, but I crashed on disgusting couches and slept on vermin-infested floors all over New Brunswick. If I wasn't in Philly, I was up at Rutgers. At Rutgers you could at least get food within walking distance. At La Salle, the food stores were drug fronts like Old Face Andre's on The Wire.

But something curious has happened to my younger brother in the past few days. He, like the rest of the state of New Jersey, has come down with a case of Scarlet Fever after Rutgers' spellbinding upset of Louisville and emergence as a national championship football contender. My brother, who has practically lobbied for a terrorist attack on Piscataway and New Brunswick, has even been seen wearing Rutgers sweatshirts. Even more baffling in his 180... I don't think my brother even really likes sports.

What's next, Chris, a tattoo of Mike Teel eating a Fat Moon (with extra pussy juice) on your calf?

Meet Gregg.

Ah, my older brother. What is there to say about him?

Well, he somehow manages to be the most endearing yet most irritating person alive, all at the same time. The guy sleeps through everything, loves nothing more than an uncomfortable joke, and really enjoys talking to the least advisable people about the most inappropriate things possible. He's unsanitary and doesn't get haircuts often enough.

But he still somehow manages to have everyone on his side and is like a cult hit with people. Seriously, his friends treat him like I treat watching The Warriors. People have a sick obsession with Gregg and his sense of humor that I don't advocate, understand, or participate in. I watch people talk to and about Gregg, and I often find myself wondering, "Don't these people realize how being friends with Gregg means you will never get anywhere at the time you planned, and when you get there, you'll be far more uncomfortable than you wanted to be?"

The best thing about Gregg is that I have been mining him for comedic material for over two decades. My greatest success as a comedian has come from stealing material Gregg has introduced into my life. Either by mining the awkwardness he creates in comedy scenes, or by outright stealing ideas he has had and watering them down so they are palatable to people who are not the six dudes we grew up with and still talk to, or nine drunks from Philadelphia he knows.

So there are some bad things and some good things about Gregg. I am kind of ambiguous about a lot of things about him, sometimes I think his whole persona is great and hilarious, and sometimes I want to smash his face with a stick until his brains are all over the floor.

He's Chris

How do I introduce Chris Gethard?

Many of you reading this probably know who Chris is already. Definitely more of you know who he is than you know who I am. I attribute this to the nature of our paths in life (and I just vomited typing that phrase). I went to college in Philadelphia where I concentrated in drinking beer, skipping classes and hating myself. My brother went to Rutgers and concentrated in hating himself. But he also fell into the world of improv comedy (which I enjoyed mocking) and got a job writing for a low-rent fanzine based in our town.

After college, I fell into decaying world of journalism until I finally had enough of covering school board meetings in suburban America. Now I'm lost, bitter and angry. The low-rent fanzine my brother worked at blossomed and soon became sold at bookstores nationwide. His bosses even had their own show on The History Channel. And my brother was even given a book deal on his own. And his once-mockable hobby of improv comedy has blossomed, where my brother now works at one of the leading comedy theaters in the country, allowing him to appear on a whole bunch of television shows and the like.

Not only is my brother wildly successful while I'm, well, not, but I can't even beat him up anymore. He outweighs me by a lot and has also been training in a martial art known as Brazillian jiu-jitsy. The most athletic I get is in simulating Madden seasons on PS2.

Am I jealous? Fuck yes. Am I plotting cruel brotherly vengeance? Hell yeah. Do you think anyone wants to grow up to become a Roger Clinton or a Drew Lachey?

But while I am planning his ultimate demise, I remain consistently entertained by what my brother does on a daily basis. Particularly with his rage issues. I mean, I've never met someone who gets angrier for less than he does.

"JESUS CHRIST! WHY DID YOU EAT THE LAST CINNAMON RASIN BAGEL?"

But we'll get into Chris' mindset later. That is, if he's still talking to me after this post.