Friday, April 30, 2010

Regress #17: Fancy Dan

Hollywood's Jude Law is a smug prick.

Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Advance #18: Precious

Before there was Precious (Based On The Novel "Push" By Some Self-Important Scribe I'm Mercifully Not Contractually Obligated To Awkwardly Include In This Similarly Cumbersome Parenthetical), there was Precious.

And why do I give her mad respect? Let me count the ways.

Residing in a ghoulish death-hovel in austere, cheerless Belvedere, Ohio? Check.

Living your days with a bloodthirsty maniac who makes breezy Can-Can outfits out of co-eds (and is the unquestioned Samurai of the no-wang dance)? Hell yeah.

Used as a cowardly canine bargaining chip in a desperate ploy by a portly abductee to secure sweet freedom from her nightmarish Prison of Horrors? Absolutely.

Being the most loyal "psychopath's best friend" this side of Robin Wright Penn?  Most assuredly.

You, my brave Bijon Frise, have more guts than Robert Pattinson at a bachelorette party.

May your upcoming Disney Silence of The Lambs reboot be everything you so hope it will be.

Denny salutes you, P. Dogg, with a big, fat Gaines-burger for that ass.

Dog's Best Friend,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Take The Wheel, Jack Bauer

Eds. Note: This is the fifth installment of our ongoing series of guest appearances by cultural heavyweights.


Truer words have never been uttered, and the freedom haters at Fox are making the wrong call by turning my clever catchphrase into a sad marching order that's going to put tens of thousands of innocent women and children in danger.

But I will proceed stoically as I ride off into the dark nether regions of our cultural awareness, where I will once again hoist my gravelly, morally superior indignation at the likes of Cheng Zhi, Marwan, The Dawn Brigade Separatists, and that three-faced sperm sponge Nina Myers.

I spit on your grave, Harlot. Or at least on the grave that you're purported to be buried in even though you're surely alive and engaging in some high stakes anthrax deal with bloodthirsty Somalian rebels in the basement of a seedy Bucharest disco.

And don't even get me started on our favorite wanton power-slut, Sherry Palmer. You're probably giving her a ridiculous blabber show now, eh, Rupert?

Seriously, Murdoch, can you put that whiskey sour down, look me in the eye and tell me the same network that parades dancing bonobos, wife-swapping dickwads and transsexual trailer park escorts in front of America has the moral authority to cancel the very show that has put your illegitimate grandchildren through the finest dual-sex military schools in eastern Australia?  That's what I thought.

Oh to have seven minutes with you in CTU Interrogation Room #3 with the cameras off and me so engorged with rage that I could, literally, force a towel down your throat until you gurgle to me whatever I want to hear. Why yes, I can get you some new undergarments. After you tell me who ordered the attack.

And what of the children?

An entire generation of American youth have suckled at the ample teet of my patriotic bravado so they can know right from wrong, good from bad, and when to electrocute a bound, 17 year old non-English speaking underling to within an inch of his life without so much as getting a time out. Uncle Jack knows, child. Uncle Jack knows.

So I want to say a breathy goodbye to all of my friends.  Don't cry for Jack Bauer.  He'll be just fine. Chloe is three months pregnant with her second son.  And my informant tells me that he's going to be called Jack.

Just like his father.

59:56, 59:57, 59:58, 59:59...

All My Best,
Jack Bauer

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Carbon Nanotube Update #1

Just a friendly heads-up for my loyal readers: the planet's carbon nanotube capacity has, seemingly against all odds, been increased for 2010.

I can now get more than ever before out of my nanotube.  And I'm pretty stoked.

Drinks on me,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, April 26, 2010

Advance #17: Our Generation's Cary Grant

Cary Grant. Sir Laurence Olivier. Paul Newman. Gregory Peck. Clark Gable.

These Pharaohs of Old Hollywood all possessed unrivaled acting chops, sculpted jawlines and animal magnetism in spades. And we'll never forget them.

Whether a role required a slow burn or a bright conflagration of thespianic ardor, they stood at the ready to transform themselves. And, perhaps, us a little as well.

Many have debated what nuanced player of our generation will one day proudly stand arm and arm with these Titans of the Celluloid.

Will it be Clooney? Depp? Washington? Seymour Hoffman?

I say none of the above.

Let me be the first to lay my hard earned money down on a multi-faceted son of a Michigan auto mechanic, who worked his way through the acting ranks with razor-like aplomb, never losing sight of his dream to be the very best at his craft.

I'm talking about you, Dax Shepard.  Please get up and take a bow.

Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Regress #16: Ke$ha

A secretive, longstanding debt at last repaid to a childhood friend?

The bile-twinged fruits of an ignoble pact with the Prince of Lies himself?

The product of a morally-defunct skin video that has fallen in sinister, blackmailing hands?

Any of the above could explain how a certain hell-spawned record deal came to fruition.

And the barefaced lack of talent, charisma or basic human grooming demonstrated by the pasty witch that answers to Ke$ha--and makes Rihanna sound like an in her prime Aretha Franklin--demands a contrite confession. The time for such an accounting is nigh.

The blood dripping from our collective eardrums is on your hands, Dr. Luke.  Make this right before your craven blonde Succubus maims again.

Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Advance #16: Your New Bad Habit Might Just Save Your Life

I'm proud to announce the results of a new study to be published in one of the leading health and fitness journals in North America:

Reading Your New Bad Habit for at least 90 minutes a week, when coupled with: (1) a low fat, high fiber diet;  (2) an hour or more of moderate cardiovascular exercise a day; and (3) no smoking, excessive drinking or illegal drug use, may contribute to a decreased risk of heart disease.

You came for a bawdy snicker or two.  You stayed because you wanted to live longer.

Good call, DelVecchians. Good call.

Dr. Feelgood,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, April 23, 2010

Advance #15: Whatever The Living Shit This Is

Behold, DelVecchians of the globe, this all too short aural-gasm, which was no doubt lovingly cobbled together from a live simian, three hits of PCP and a Bliptronic 500 LED synth by the steady hands of the city fathers of Awesometown.

Dare I point out that it's one of the top 15-20 ape driving a Segway around a random Asian greenspace videos of all time?

Well I just did.

Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Regress #15: Gift For The Boss Man

I picked up this Team Jacob "Jorts and Velvet Slip-Ons" action figure (shirt sold separately) tonight for my shift supervisor's birthday.

I don't relish being seen as a suck-ass by Gary and the Work Pimpz, but this is a whole lot less expensive in self-worth terms for me than the ready casting couch in Easy Ed's office would be.

Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Fashionista DelVecchio

Stay tuned for the 2010 Your New Bad Habit Fashion Spring-Tacular!, soon set to illuminate personal and work computers all across the free world.

"What's in it for me," you ask?

Try these on for size:

Crotchless: The Season's New Black?

Military-Inspired Unmentionables Are Going to Draft Your Tits!

Shorts at the Office: Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

New Fashion Frontiers for Hipsters, Starring Soap, Water and Human Dignity

Kate Spade: Okay For Your Trailer Slut Sister, Too? 
Channel Your Inner Gaga With Svelte, Package-Reducing Cuts

And so much more!

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Regress #14: Eyjafjallajokull This

An Open Letter to Icelandic Supreme Archduke Olafur Ragnar Grimsson:

Look, Your Excellency, I don't claim to be some sort of roguish, devil-may-care geologist by day/high-priced male escort by night.

But I'm pretty sure that your almond-rich, economic mega-power could do something about its historically flatulent volcano if it saw fit.

Is this about unsettled anger over Gordon Bombay, Esquire's Mighty Ducks raining hockey excellence all over the seismically overrated Iceland junior hockey team? Because if it is, just know that they did the same thing two years later to the insufferable rich kids of Eden Hall Academy--and the snooty prep school knobs didn't set a doomsday geologic event in motion.

They did a quick line of blow and went back to building up a seething hatred of their flinty, alcoholic mothers. Perhaps you should do the same.

People have been stranded in some of Europe's finer airports for over four days. It's a budding humanitarian crises of biblical proportion that you could stop with the simple click of that Magma-Tron there to the left by your Sumatran concubine.

Put down your bejeweled Scepter of Wrath and do the right thing for mankind--turn off your damn volcano.  Just like Tommy Lee Jones did.

With Authority,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, April 19, 2010

Regress #13: Train In Vain

I care not what grim personal or emotional depths you are currently plumbing.

It doesn't matter how soul-crushingly bleak your already rawboned lovemaking prospects have become.

It's of no moment that you find yourself shamefully devoid of skill in your chosen vocation as an erotic mime.

And I won't judge you simply because you spend most of your free hours in the musty crawlspace above your ex-girlfriend's apartment bedroom.

Because despite all of these lamentable human conditions, you're George Timothy Fucking Clooney compared to the bastard love child of Sandy Cohen and Dylan McDermott-looking, cleanse my ears with sulfuric acid sounding, Dark Angel Lucifer-spawned, mortal sin against humanity and all things sacred and holy better known as Train.

Feeling better now?

With Perfect Empathy,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Spoiler Alert #4: Jaws

You're the salty but kindhearted lawman of a idyllic Long Island resort town in the mid-70s.

More Than a Feeling is blaring from AM radios. The summer tourist crush is unfolding. Main Street is satiated, and waves of jaunty visitors are having the times of their lives.

Then the bodies start piling up. 

It could be a horrifying, gender-confused psychopath. Or a gang of motorcycle riding, machete-wielding toughs. Or even a creature from beyond, hell bent on making planet Earth its own wanton reproductive playground.

What's your next move, Chief Brody? 

You want Denny's advice? Take a quick peek under the water. And I don't mean at the coquettish bikinis painted on the ample-bosomed enchantresses frequenting Amity's beaches.

I'm talking about a whole new brand of dorsal-finned horror.

Something that scientists in 2010 are now calling a "Shark."

Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Advance #14: My New Hero

I'd like to introduce all of my DelVecchians to one Emma Doreen Brewbaker of allegedly of Tempe, who made me a firm believer last night in both fate and feminine physical perfection.

As an icebreaker, I told her that she must have absolutely stunning ovaries. That's all the in Denny needed.

Three surprisingly awkward lean-ins later, she was gone. But not from my aching soul.

Oddly, the cell number that my sweet Priestess gave me rings to an elderly gentleman in northern Nevada named Max Brusiwicz. Lady Nat must have been so beguiled when she wrote it on my bicep that cognizant thought was nearly impossible.  After all, just look at me.

So, I'm off to fire a Missed Connections love rocket at the sweet and eminently bone-worthy Ms. Brewbaker. I'll report back later, homies.

With Love,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, April 16, 2010

Regress #12: Missing Your Demographic

Although sure to make you drop and do the booty wop, this jam is the harmonic equivalent of assigning Your New Bad Habit as required reading for the Hutterian Brethren.

It certainly would have been insightful to have been a fly on the wall at the Mensa convention where this political masterstroke was conceived.

Such an endeavor is simply too important to leave in the hands of amateurs. Had I been in charge, I would have leaned toward a significantly more old school joint

In Confidence,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Advance #13: A Very Special Boy

How a culture treats its most vulnerable speaks volumes about it.

In ancient Rome, the mentally befeebled were made the unwilling subjects of cruel, humiliating bloodsport.

In the early days of our nation, these ersatz citizens were forced to endure isolated lives in dank, sexless institutions.

And not until the1970s were our schools and workplaces beginning to meaningfully accommodate the "less unchallenged" among us.

So imagine the pride I felt when I learned that a plucky little moppet---one who might have, in a darker time, served as a shoeless oarsman working for 11 cents a week and nourished on a diet of wild dewberries and rainwater--had become a bona fide pop sensation.

There was once a day when bumping John Forsythe's death from a featured position on the cover of People would have been unthinkable.  That day has passed. 

And somewhere, another special someone is smiling.

Very Truly Yours,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Silver Fox Is Running Wild Again

Does anyone out there know when the new Taylor Hicks album drops?

Shoot Denny the data when you have a moment.

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Advance #12: Gunther

Given the shambles my first marriage (and my life as an unabashed Sexecutioner) left me in, it's unlikely I'll feel the matrimonial tickle anytime soon.  But if I did, I think I'd give this fleshy jockmungo first crack at scoring a lifetime contract with my loins.

I know what you're thinking--"Sir Denny, you're a buhgina-chasing lovefool." Fair enough. Admittedly, I have a long history of availing myself of the fairer sex's feline gifts.

But it's Gunther.  And he'll touch any damn tra-la-la that he wants to.

Your Pleasureguide,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, April 12, 2010

Adenoids Frighten Me

For the love of Visigoth ruler Alaric the Lesser, excise your trans-species freak boy's adenoids before the villagers come with torches and pitchforks and end this themselves. (By the way...he has your eyes.)                                   

Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Regress #11: My Wedding Night

I get a little moist of eye when I think back to that placid, magical night back in the sizzling Arizona fall of 2005.

I recall slow dancing to a particularly tender ballad as I looked my ethereal Vicki Nero DelVecchio nee Lambrusco deep in the eyes until it felt like I could peer directly into her unsullied, fawn-like soul. 

I moved in close to my porcelain doll. Very close. It was so romantic! Like sex scene #3 in Requiem for a Dream.

And then I whispered to my gentle little loveflower what had been aching in my mind for the better part of the previous three months--that the time me and her half-sister Lara hooked up in Gulfport the previous spring after the Olivia Newton-John concert meant absolutely nothing to me (although I'll not soon forget Lara's mystical leg ink):

I also told my beguiling nymphet that I had noticed (and appreciated) how hard she had worked to squeeze into her mother's size 14 dress for the wedding. Surely she would understand, and I would soon be back on the highway to wedded bliss.

I never saw my Vicki again, but last I heard she's working second shift at the I-40 (Ballaster Parkway) Whataburger just north of Flagstaff.

If you're ever up there, please tell her hey from Denny Dance. And, if possible, ask her if she knows Lara's new cell number.

Bea would have wanted it that way.

Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Advance #11: A Better Time And Place

If I could find a car seat like this, I might sire a youngling just to be able to put them in it.

May paternity be mine one day,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Reasons Why God Might Not Exist #2: Doing Hard Time in Camden

This is my first post in two days, but I am only allotted four minutes of daily internet time here in Camden city lockup, so I can't go into any detail. So much for my trip back to Jersey.

On a positive note, I now have beautiful, flowing braids (see left for a pictorial dramatization). 

On a negative note, I didn't think I'd be someone's bitch quite this quickly. (J/K Rhino. Your sweet little snooky is terrified of lubbs you!!!!!)

I should be out by the weekend. Full update then, my loyal subjects.

Pray for Denny.

Thug Life 4 Ever,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Have You Seen My Beeper?

It could have been the half-dozen or so double-blackberry mojitos I steadied myself with while dancing the night away at a club I have lovingly dubbed Ass By 11:00.

Or the fact that I gorged on a heavenly trifecta of double-battered swordfish, Georgia prawns and Absinthe.

Or perhaps it was even because I got lost in the angel eyes of a no-nonsense substitute teacher/Jazzercise! instructor from Glendale with grind-appeal rivaling only the 50 year old Lisa Rinna we fell in love with in the late 90s.

But all Denny Dance knows right now is that he's down one topaz Model D-23 Unication pager, and the lights of the Greater Phoenix Metroplex's social scene have gone dark right along with it.

Please bring Bonita home,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, April 5, 2010

Take the Wheel, Biggs Darklighter

Eds. Note: This is the fourth installment of our ongoing series of guest appearances by cultural heavyweights.

"He had that smirk, the one he'd give you when he'd done something you couldn't."―Gavin Darklighter

Daddy died six hours later.  But he did so knowing that his eldest son, Yours Truly, had been one of the top 30 or 40 rebel starfighters who had no choice but to bravely fought the Empire in the Battle of Yavin. And the old man was right--I did have "that smirk." At least until my X-Wing was engulfed by ion cannon hellfire above Death Star Infusion Dock 213 A-21. More than a few Stormtroopers celebrated (for a couple carefree moments). Who's laughing now?

Anyway, my quest toward the grail of becoming a credited rebel fighter on IMDB started when I was on the business end of a Category 5 tugjob from Leia Organa the night of the Aldera West Sadie Hawkins Mixer. She was a somewhat aloof "Diplomat Brat," with a curvy figure and morals to match. I was a brash young flight trainee on the prowl for galactic rear. It was a match made in Doaba Guerfel.

Fast forward two years. Le-Le's been kidnapped by that angry, domed, fallen angel, and guess who gets the call to lead the mission to restore her womanly honor/blow up some crazy shit? Biggs Darklighter, that's who. The one who made the Kessel Run in less than 11 parsecs.

Oh, wait. It wasn't me, was it? And who, you ask, got the call? How about some whiny little farmboy from Tatooine who was all into his twin sis' junk. Creepy if you ask me. Rumor has it the Jedis are all castrated at birth anyway. Pretty tough to make the kind of sweaty, Wampa-love that my girl so craved if you're a space eunuch. What?  No, in fact my name is not Captain Obvious.

So, anyway, prissy and his midget droid took the lead at Yavin, leaving stud fly-boys like Wedge Antilles and me to clean up his mess and let him swoop in to steal the money shot.

And the majestic victory ceremony?  "Ohh, ohh, Luke, you're sooooo brave. Mmmmm Han Solo, look how hot you are. Wow, Chewbacca, you get angry and give the most intimidating pant-hoots. How very charming.  Here's a great big medal and sexy wink from everyone's fave Princess." I wasn't even honored in memoriam. Tacky shit, homie.

Biggs Darklighter should have kissed the girl. Biggs Darklighter should have been the Jedi Messiah of the Galaxy. Biggs Darklighter should have procreated with Leia. What beautiful space babies I'd have sired. But fate is a cruel Sarlacc.

Leia Solo? Really? Sounds like a Hweg Shul prostitute.

And two words about Han: Size Queen.

By the way, Luke, be sure to give your old man my best. Tell him how much I enjoyed the Fire Sweater of Death he bought me that special night. Things have been just dandy ever since.

-Biggs D.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Advance #10: A Very Special Sunday

As I awoke this glorious and spiritual Phoenix morn, I immediately began honoring the death (and life) of one of history's most powerful cultural and spiritual leaders: Dungeons & Dragon's inventor Gary Gygax.

Besides having prevented more pregnancy than all traditional forms of birth control combined (and having a brazenly vowel-challenged surname), this gaming O.G. brought dozens of beautifully-drawn and surprisingly sensual Geomancers, Beguilers and Dragon Shamans to cheerless armies of aloof and companionless virgins across the planet.

Without Gygax, there would be no gaming dodecahedrons.

Without Gygax, there would be no 8th song on power-pop supergroup Weezer's debut LP.

Without Gygax, 33 year old Sherman Gorowski of West Allis, Wisconsin wouldn't have had to resort to a $1,700 mail-order Latvian bride to allow him to shed his fragile flower last June.

And without Gygax, the multitudes of Trekkies of the world would never have felt that they were actually cooler than someone else.

Thank you, Gary.  You won't soon be forgotten.

Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, April 3, 2010

This Is Going To Be A Hit

A old friend from the Dirty South just forwarded this new jam to me, and I strongly suspect that it's going to blow up bigtime once word gets out.

Denny Dance implores you to call or fax your local D.J. to let them know about it.

Denny DelVecchio

Hey Ladies

The Scene: 1987 in Camden, New Jersey.

The Star: One Denny Antonio DelVecchio.

The Role: Thief of Hearts.

And The Winner Is: Every female in the 18-34 demographic on the Eastern Seaboard.

Too Many Moves to Count,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, April 2, 2010

A Little Help Here

While we're on the topic of gorgeous male hair, does anyone know where a brother can score an honest $9.00 haircut?

Drop Double D the intelligence when you get a sec.

Much love,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I Miss You Pops

Hard to believe it has been 25 years to the day since I've seen your strong, expressive face. And nary a sunset passes where I don't think about what we once had, and achingly long to again smell that healthy, apricot-scented mane of yours.

But I know that you're in a better place now, enjoying a golden, sun-drenched forever.

Please page me if you ever drive through Phoenix. Hi to that skank Darlene and also to Little Mike.

Filial Piety,
Denny DelVecchio

Don't Let Jack Blades Win

My mother bet me yesterday that I couldn't get more Facebook fans in a week than early 90s rock washouts Damn Yankees.

Click this to become a Facebook fan of  Your New Bad Habit.  I doubled my fans in the last 16 hours, by the way, and I believe that I'll be blessed enough to hit double digits by late afternoon.

Him or Denny? The choice is yours.

Denny DelVecchio