Carrot Top is officially on my shit list. Back in early November, I decided to contact Mr. Top and request an interview. I was optimistic that the redheaded clown would accept my offer. Dreams of the dream interview ran through my head. I imagined myself sitting poolside at a five-star hotel, taking notes while my tape recorder documented a hilarious conversation with everyone’s favorite prop comedian. I would ask the tough questions and get the tough answers. It would be journalism at its finest.

Things started smoothly. I sent an initial inquiry to Carrot Top’s agents at ICM and promptly received a cordial response welcoming me to send my request to Carrot Top’s publicist. I wanted to make a good impression on Carrot’s cronies, so I spent a few hours crafting a nice letter highlighting the strengths of the Daily Nexus and the potential benefits that Carrot Top might reap by appearing in these pages.

Within a day or two, Carrot Top’s publicist responded with an e-mail asking for more specifics. I told him that I wanted to do an article about a day in the life of Carrot Top. Unfortunately, I never heard back from Team Top. I can only assume that their client is so busy being unfunny that he can’t even take 20 minutes out of his day to answer a few easy questions.

You know what this means? Carrot Top hates UCSB. He’s not the only celebrity who’s rebuffed my advances. I also tried to get in touch with Burt Reynolds, Frank Stallone, Chuck Norris, Gary Busey and Dustin Diamond – the guy who played Screech on “Saved By the Bell.” I never heard back from Reynolds or Norris. Stallone’s people informed me that he charges an outrageous $10,000 for public appearances. Busey’s reps balked at my ideas. My celebrity interview options were quickly disappearing. Then a miracle happened.

A lovely little e-mail arrived, containing the actual phone number for Screech’s agent. This was a huge break. I had just snuck through the doors of Hollywood and was now within dialing distance of one of its biggest stars. Things were looking up, but I had to be careful not to upset Screech. I had seen him pummel ’70s sitcom star Ron “Horseshack” Palillo on “Celebrity Boxing” and was in no hurry to arouse those deadly fists of thunder.

The call had to be perfect. The mood had to be right. I lit some candles and drank a glass of wine. I picked up my phone and looked through the list of numbers, stopping on Screech Agent. I was sweating. My hands were shaking. I was extremely nervous about blowing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Then I remembered something:

Screech sucks. He’s not worth the paper that this paper is printed on. He’s not even the coolest “Saved By the Bell” alumnus – that honor is held by Mario “A.C. Slater” Lopez, the man who single-handedly made stonewashed jeans and muscle shirts relevant. I’d try to contact Lopez for an interview, but he currently has a restraining order against me because I repeatedly made threatening phone calls to his house.

Despite my struggles with celebrities, I haven’t abandoned my quest to infuse these pages with some new life. I want to have some guest input in my next column. I want your guest input. That’s right, I want to hear from you, the esteemed students of UCSB. My hope is that we can do a little Dear Abby type thing. It will work like this:

Dear Nick: My girlfriend dumped me for my best friend. What should I do? – Heartbroken

Dear Heartbroken: You should probably drop out of college and join the Lyndon LaRouche for President cult. If elected, LaRouche will use his divine powers to eradicate world hunger, cure AIDS, banish your best friend and knock some sense into your wayward girlfriend. Then you and your lady can get back together and make babies. Then your children can vote for LaRouche. Then LaRouche can take over the world.

I think you get the idea. My e-mail address is Dial down the center.

Daily Nexus columnist Nick Pasto once paid 20 bucks for a lap dance from child prodigy Gary Coleman, but Coleman’s agent declined to comment.