But a bid from a comedy channel fell through when the suits from New York didn't get it.
"They just sat there with their arms folded," moans D'Albert, who sports debutante hair and eyelashes like a garden rake.
No, I'm not sure how this would play in Peoria either, but it's a hoot here, in front of a throbby L.A. crowd of 25-to-55-year-olds.
For such a novel show, it's had a long run.
"It's because the show is really fun, and we pay attention to detail," says D'Albert, who also performs.
What made the creators think wrestling/burlesque might work?
"That moment didn't really happen until the middle of the first show," D'Albert says with a laugh.
"The crowd has changed," says Karis, the girl who's a dude. "Before, it mostly appealed to artists. Then everyone started coming.
"All of a sudden, you get transported into this magical world," says Karis, who goes by just the one name and has been with the show from the beginning. "It seems complex, but it's really very simple."
Someone told me the crowd would be made up of industry types, but it's more diverse than that. Generally, the young people look like the cast of "How I Met Your Mother." There are older professionals too: lawyers, vampires and other deadbeats, none of whom fold their arms.
That's because Lucha VaVoom has the pacing of a prison break. Before you can process what you see, they're off to the next segment in which luchadores (wrestlers) take on … oh, I don't know what they're taking on. A mini-chicken? A minx/commando named Lux LaCroix?
Next thing you know, two performers are getting legally married right there on stage. It's like a hobbit wedding, but with more alcohol.
I cry a little, because romance always does that to tough guys like me.