Okay, admit it: Jeff Spicoli was your high school hero. While you were doing laps at football practice and cramming for SATs, he was cutting Mr. Hands history class and buring another bowl of weed-ies. But your dedication paaid off right after high school, right? After all, what kind of future could a baked-potatoe-head like Spicoli really have? I plundered the Ridgemont High alumni files to find out. After all, someone who has meant so much to so many needs to be tracked down. And everyone knows I am the man to do it.
In the Fast Times elilogue, we learn that after barley getting his hands on a diploma (and probably then rolling a fat one with it), Spicoli rescued a nubile Brooke Shields from drowning, then blew his reward to hire Van Halen to play his birthday party. But what the movie didn't show was that by the time he blew out the candles on his three-tiered birthday hash brownie, Spicoli and David Lee Roth had bonded as best buds. (Apparently, they were the only ones who could understand each other's ganja-garbled ramblings about "tasty waves" and "bogus babes.")
Diamond Dave immediately put Jeff on the payroll as his personal roadie, placing him in charge of important rock-star stuff like screening groupies for BJ aptitude and making sure Roth knew where he was before he wailed to a concert audience that "nobody rocks like (insert city name here)!!"
Eddie Van Halen pubicly denies that he booted Roth out of the band because Spicoli repeatedly left burrito hand prints all over his own bodacious babe, Valerie Bertinelli. Still the break up was bitter, and the glory days were over. (When asked a few years later if Sammy Hagar hadn't made the band better, Spicoli indignantly replied "No way, dude------those guys are f***!") Unfortunately, after Roth's solo career went up in smoke faster than Spicoli could kill a bong hit, he was forced to let Jeff go. But luckily, he was playing the Honolulu Ramada Inn Lounge at the time, so Jeff took solace in the surf and primo, uh, turf that Hawaii had to offer.
One afternoon in the late 80's, after sparking a pineapple size spiff of Maui Wowee, he paddled his board so far out in search of the perfect wave that he washed up on a tiny remote island. The tropical tribe that found him fashioning a bamboo bong on the beach judged Jeff to be a witch doctor of considerable power and started worshiping him as a deity. "Doing the great white god trip was totally b******'!" he sort of recalls. "All I did was hang ten all day and bang the big chief's righteous daughters all night." The tribe turned on him after a few years, however, when it was discovered that he had left no virgins to sacrifice to the island's gnarly volcano god. Though Spicoli was forced to paddle away to keep his head, a recent National Geographic article revealed that the tribes customs still include tattooing their chests with the Van Halen logo and being tardy to all ritual ceremonies.
After that, nobody heard from Jeff for a few years, though it was widely speculated that he was the joker responsible for having a dozen large pepperoni pizzas delivered to Mr. hands funeral in '93. When Spicoli did pop up again, it was as a California hemp activist who staged a campaign for the U.S. House of Representatives in '96 with the slogan "Make smaller bikinis, not war." With endorsements from Woody Harrelson, the Black Crows and the editors of High times, Congressman Spicoli won by a landslide and moved to Washington. (Fortunately, five months into his first term, someone reminded him that the U.S. Congress is in Washington, D.C.) While racking up the largest absentee record of any representative ("Just couldn't make it, dude," he matter-of-factly explained to Mike Wallace of 60 Minutes), he did introduce landmark legislation to create subsidies for landlocked surfers and to declare Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water' as the new national anthem.
With political analystts like George Stephanopolous and Tim Russert saying that the new rep's laid-back attitude toward government had connected with Gen X voters, it seemed that Jeff had a bright future in politics. Then, while back in California canvassing his constituents (at least the ones who lived within five minutes of the beach), Jeff began a torrid affair with Chelsea Clinton. He survived the savage beating by Secret Service agents and an IRS audit that ruled he owed $23.7 billion in back taxes. When he was subsequently impeached, Specoli mooned his fellow congressmen, addressed the Speaker of the House as "You D***!" and marched straight out (well, after he got lost on the way and spent 20 minutes in a coat closet).
Today, ironically, Spicoli is right back where he started: at Ridgemont High. But now, he teaches plant science and ceramics. And no, he never give detention for tardiness as he has a hard time arriving on time himself.