When I mock random people, I’m considered a jerk, but when a guy in a goofy suit and a degree in “hypnotism” mocks people, he’s an entertainer.

I want to know where you study hypnotism. Does Iowa State have a sociology course I don’t know about … Human Response to Guys in Goofy Suits or something?

Wherever he was schooled, master hypnotist Gary Conrad was an overachiever. Seeing his show at The Funny Bone last week, I couldn’t help but repeat the classic Billy Madison line — “He’s good.”

Most twentysomethings relate hypnotism to those post-prom parties our high schools used to have to keep us from drinking and, even worse, having sex.

Conrad, Raven or some other guy in a goofy suit would bring up 20-or-so students — half of which were too drunk to be hypnotized anyway — and work his magic.

The prom queen would sing a horrendous version of a New Kids on the Block song, and the quarterback of the football team would be plagued with an imaginary flatulence problem.

You would get a few good laughs in and head home even thirstier and hornier than you were two hours earlier.

But to truly experience hypnotism is to see it at a comedy club.

In high school, you get the G show — New Kids and fart jokes at best. In comedy clubs, you get the R version — boobs and even more fart jokes.

Actually, Raven does an occasional midnight show that borders on X-rated. Before the show, everyone in the club has to sign a waiver saying they won’t take pictures or be pissed if they get naked.

During the show, Raven uses his “powers” to give women instant orgasms. (Once again, where can I learn this stuff?)

The show I saw was not quite as sexually intense, but Conrad did warn his “patients” not to get hypnotized if they were with a jealous date.

I must have passed because my date was the first one on stage.

And I never did get too jealous, except for when Conrad told the patients there was someone they were really close to dancing in a leprechaun suit underneath their chairs and my date said it was her best friend … not me.

But I figure if not being a miniature dancing leprechaun was the worst thing that happened to me, I had it pretty good.

It could have been much worse. I could have been the date of the lady who was trying to undress most of the show or the husband of the older lady who was hypnotized with a filthy case of Tourette’s.

Those guys had to be embarrassed.

I was actually enjoying watching my date make a fool out of herself. And since she doesn’t remember most of it, I’ve fabricated everything into some great stories she believes really happened.

“Yeah, babe, you were saying how you wish you could spend more nights watching me play Playstation with my roommates … and how you were sick of never having to pay for drinks at the bar.”

Actually, there was some pretty funny stuff I didn’t even have to make up.

There was the guy who was holding his brain in his hand and couldn’t figure out how to put it back in, the girl who could only communicate via farm animal noises, and the guy doing the “rolling dice” motion in front of him at rapid pace.

And you can’t forget the fart jokes. Watching this odd mixture of people on stage fanning off each other’s “farts” was pretty classic.

It sure beat New Kids.

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Corey Moss is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Urbandale.