conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Behind the Bell about American, Samuel, Screech with the genre: New, Used & Rental Textbooks, Humanities.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is an American actor, reality TV star, musician and stand-up comedian. He originally won fame for his comedic role as Samuel Screech Powers on the television show Saved by the Bell. He recently appeared on VH1's Celebrity Fit Club.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Behind the Bell
  Come to think of it, another weird thing about Mark-Paul was that he was always extremely reserved when it came to sharing his exploits chasing ass. A more mild way of characterizing it might be to say he didn't kiss and tell. I don't know if he was just an early incarnation of Niles Crane or what, but he never talked about the girls he was banging. And he was never on the prowl at events like Mario—and later I—was. I mean, the whole excitement of going to these things was new town, new ladies. The road events were subsidized trips to Assylvania. All-you-can-bang buffets. I was busy seeing how many girls I could squeeze into my hotel bathtub while Mark-Paul was relaxing in his alone, shaving his legs. Seriously, for a while he shaved his legs. He said it was because he liked to jog. Reduced his wind drag.
  During that graduation episode, there was a song that accompanied the emotional finale as the gang at Bayside hugged their goodbyes. Tears flowed (real and Tiffani's) on set and at the wrap party, but, like I said, I knew we'd be back. We had a lot of alleged wrap parties. Everybody said, "How can you not be sad, Dustin?" The answer was that I knew we were coming back, because we always came back, no matter what people told us.
  Maybe it all was to get back at Den, who seemed to always be up in the writers' room lecturing them on how he wanted Mr. Maybe Den had told each of the writers that he was from their individual hometowns, and they'd finally compared notes with each other, deciding he was full of shit. Den was telling them how to do their jobs, and they were like, "Okay buddy, we're the writers; you're the actor. We'll write the lines, you memorize them, and everybody will be happy." I think Den just got on their nerves after a while, and they started taking it out on us in the scenes we had together. They'd write action like, "Screech gets scared and wraps his arms around Belding for safety." It was a comedy show with a number of slapstick, cartoonish set pieces, so that wasn't so bad. But then when scenes weren't coming off as the writers envisioned, they started getting more graphic.
  We all knew what was happening. I thought it was downright shitty and cold-hearted. Dennis had put his time in just like the rest of us and deserved to share the recognition. I announced that I wasn't going to do the photo shoot if Den wasn't included in the pictures. It caused this big ruckus. Everybody started scurrying around, making phone calls. St. Peter came storming down onto the stage, "What's going on?!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Belding, Belding.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Behind the Bell
  Come to think of it, another weird thing about Mark-Paul was that he was always extremely reserved when it came to sharing his exploits chasing ass. A more mild way of characterizing it might be to say he didn't kiss and tell. I don't know if he was just an early incarnation of Niles Crane or what, but he never talked about the girls he was banging. And he was never on the prowl at events like Mario—and later I—was. I mean, the whole excitement of going to these things was new town, new ladies. The road events were subsidized trips to Assylvania. All-you-can-bang buffets. I was busy seeing how many girls I could squeeze into my hotel bathtub while Mark-Paul was relaxing in his alone, shaving his legs. Seriously, for a while he shaved his legs. He said it was because he liked to jog. Reduced his wind drag. 
  During that graduation episode, there was a song that accompanied the emotional finale as the gang at Bayside hugged their goodbyes. Tears flowed (real and Tiffani's) on set and at the wrap party, but, like I said, I knew we'd be back. We had a lot of alleged wrap parties. Everybody said, "How can you not be sad, Dustin?" The answer was that I knew we were coming back, because we always came back, no matter what people told us. 
  Maybe it all was to get back at Den, who seemed to always be up in the writers' room lecturing them on how he wanted Mr. Belding to be written. Maybe Den had told each of the writers that he was from their individual hometowns, and they'd finally compared notes with each other, deciding he was full of shit. Den was telling them how to do their jobs, and they were like, "Okay buddy, we're the writers; you're the actor. We'll write the lines, you memorize them, and everybody will be happy. " I think Den just got on their nerves after a while, and they started taking it out on us in the scenes we had together. They'd write action like, "Screech gets scared and wraps his arms around Belding for safety. " It was a comedy show with a number of slapstick, cartoonish set pieces, so that wasn't so bad. But then when scenes weren't coming off as the writers envisioned, they started getting more graphic. 
  We all knew what was happening. I thought it was downright shitty and cold-hearted. Dennis had put his time in just like the rest of us and deserved to share the recognition. I announced that I wasn't going to do the photo shoot if Den wasn't included in the pictures. It caused this big ruckus. Everybody started scurrying around, making phone calls. St. Peter came storming down onto the stage, "What's going on?!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: People have come up to me feeling they have free rein to be rude because they "know" me and are entitled to get anything and everything off their chest. I can't act irritated, I need to be all smiles, otherwise people will dismiss me as just another arrogant celebrity. Say I'm at dinner, sitting in a quiet restaurant with my girl, off in a corner, minding my business. Maybe it's Valentine's Day. Maybe we just had a fight. Maybe we're discussing how her grandmother just died or how the world just sucks at that point, and we're both on the edge of tears. Sometimes people will recognize me and be very respectful and friendly. They'll say they're a big fan and ask for a photo or an autograph. Then there are others that have no sense of decorum or class. They'll walk right up to my table, throw their arm around me without a word with their camera phone poised in their outstretched hand and snap a shot—while I'm eating!
  People will come right up to me and ask, with all sincerity, "So, what's it like being the biggest fucking idiot on TV?" Behavior like that is tough to tolerate, but if I say anything derogatory in response, I'm the asshole.
  Parents have approached me, telling me they want to get their children started in acting. They ask me if there's anything I can do to help and, with many of them, I'll recognize that ravenous "stage-mom" glare in their eyes. I see that hunger some parents have to live vicariously through their children's fame. Sometimes I'll ask these kids, "What do you really want to do? What are your interests?" They tell me everything from wanting to be a writer to becoming a jet-engine mechanic. I encourage them to follow those dreams, not the dreams of their parents. Because sacrificing your childhood for the adventure of acting has its price. For some, that price is too high.
  The blessings of fame can be tremendous, far exceeding much of the drudgery or ridicule that result from living in the public eye. Working on a television or film set, seeing everything come together, getting along with the cast and crew, vibing off the whole creative environment of making entertainment, knowing your job, and performing like a pro—that's an amazing experience. Few experiences in life come close to the total reward of doing one thing extremely well.
  I've never heard another actor discuss this, but there's a moment when you realize you're a professional actor. Maybe it's a realization that you're doing what you were born to do, but whatever it is, it's an odd, slightly unsettling sensation when it occurs.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Here's a weird, random tidbit: the actress who played the French maid with the over-the-top accent in this episode—she had the line, "You ayrr a seeef and a mayrdayrarrrr" (Translation: "You are a thief and a murderer")—was dating Jon Lovitz at the time.
  Guest starring: Shana Furlow as Joanna Peterson, Jon Clair as Darren Brooks, Vaughn Armstrong as Mr. Breskin, and Bel Sandre as Martha.
  Here's how the fight went down, blow-by-blow: A.C. Slater quickly descends the stairwell of Bayside's main hallway. He approaches Zack as he stands at his open locker.
  Zack pushes Slater. Slater pushes back. Zack lands a devastating right cross to Slater's left cheek, sending him crashing to the floor. Slater recovers, charges Zack. He wraps up Zack and throws him to the floor. Now straddling him, Slater lands a powerful right cross to Zack's eye. Zack seizes two fistfuls of Slater's lustrous hair as they wrestle back to their feet.
  Before ripping open Zack's silken shirt in a fit of rage and despair, Screech says to Zack, "Why'd you have to steal my dream? I hate you."