Prompted by an omission of his name in our Best of issue, Slimfast launched an on-air campaign to buy a cover of the Pitch and submitted a letter to the editor which we published last week detailing various instances that have left him feeling slighted.
This is the latest in a host of Slimfast stories that make us smile. We still giggle about the time he smuggled a box of half-empty bottles of liquor (originally collected for the homeless, if memory serves) into an on-campus residence at a certain Jesuit university, broadcasting live his exploits with approximately 15 senior girls including us. When security caught wind and broke up the party, threatening to dispense fines to any underage students, we politely handed over our IDs, confident with the knowledge that each of us was at least 21. Each of us, that is, but Slimfast.
But our favorite Slim memory (Slimory?) involves an incident that occurred very late one night a couple years back. We happened to be at Mike's Tavern, where he hosted a weekly gig. The details are fuzzy, but after the bar closed, a few of us followed him to Buzzard Beach with some small person whose name escapes us (Sneaky Pete? Pistol Pete?). After that place closed, we all headed to that small person's apartment.
Again, fuzzy, but we do remember more drinking and a pet hedgehog loose in the living room that may or may not have been an albino. Then the lanky radio personality decided to make his move. He flopped down on the floor next to us, rested his head in our lap and asked, "Why don't you like me?" Before we could answer, he passed out.
So you see, we totally know who he is. And we think he's funny. Even if the joke is occasionally at his expense.
That's why this week we love Slimfast.