Speaking of good Slater stories...
Okay, so it's Mardi Gras in New Orleans, about four years ago. A hive of scum and villainy. I went down there with a buddy, who had gone down there with his whole fraternity for a solid week of boozing and boob-watching. And we run into Mario Lopez. Yeah, THAT Mario Lopez.
A bunch of the drunken fratboys get pathetically excited and start begging for autographs and buying him drinks. It's annoying, but my buddy and I stick around. Lopez is just absolutely hammered, and he's being a royal dick, saying things like, "Where's my pussy?" "Yo, you, woman, get over here!" and "I'm Mario FUCKING Lopez!", stuff like that. He was trying to act like a movie star, but none of the girls in the bar seemed interested. He hit on a few of the frat guys' girlfriends, then got restless.
By the way, here's the extent of my conversation with him:
REAL SLATER: "Man, you know how much Saved by the Bell shit I got in high school for being named Slater?"
FAKE, RATHER FAT SLATER: "Your name's Slater?"
REAL SLATER: "Yeah. Last name."
FAKE, RATHER FAT SLATER: "Yeah, well, I'm the COOL Slater!" (Laughs loudly, elbows guy next to him, clearly pleased with his joke.)
REAL SLATER: "Um. Okay. See you later."
So anyway, Lopez gets annoyed that none of the girls in this bar are throwing themselves all over Mario FUCKING Lopez, and he announces to the fraternity that he knows this really cool bar, and he wants everybody to come with him.
The frat guys seem to think that this is a great idea. So the fat, washed-up star of children's television who raped my fucking name takes off, followed by a herd of frat boys, reluctantly followed by me and my buddy.
This new bar we're at is EXPENSIVE. We're talking seven dollars a beer, raise-your-pinky-finger-when-you-take-a-drink expensive. But Lopez shrugs it off. "You guys are my new buddies!" he slurs. "Drinks are on me tonight!" And so everybody starts drinking, just hammering away, pounding down the alcohol. The tab starts to rise. Mario Lopez slap the ass of every cocktail waitress that comes by.
(Best humiliating moment: Lopez stops a waitress and says, "Do I look familiar?" She says no. He says, "Ever see me on television?" She says no. He asks her if she's ever watched Saved by the Bell. She laughs, and says, "That fucking kids show?" He looks heartbroken as she walks off.)
The tab continues to rise. We've got about forty people drinking beers continuously at seven bucks a bottle. Lopez is drinking the fastest of all, and just generally doing obnoxious stuff like trying to get the group to sing songs with him, or to go out and recruit "titty girls" off the street so he could autograph some titties.
A waiter comes over and whispers in Lopez's ear. We later found out that he had told him the current tab, and asked if he wanted to keep buying drinks for everybody. Although we didn't find out at the time, Lopez told the waiter that his new friends had decided to spring for the tab, and they would be paying the bill.
He excuses himself to go to the bathroom. The last any of us will see of Mario Lopez is him making a stumbling feignt towards the bathroom. He bobs. He weaves. And then the fat man breaks for the front door. He throws one last terrified look over his shoulder and then he's gone, out the front door and away into the stream of flashing titties.
The waiter comes over to tell us that our tab is currently somewhere around the $1,600 price range, and would we like to keep drinking?
And THAT's why I hate Slater.
