Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Regress #36: Someone's A Bit Touchy

So I'm at a sizzling hot baby shower for a co-worker, Debbie O'Dell-Brownberry, this morning (pheromones on Mach 10!) and she volunteers her observation that a large number of women at work have gotten pregnant lately.

Naturally, I expect all eyes to drift toward Denny Dance, given my preternatural fertility. Lord knows, although some say the workplace is off limits for discussions of carnality, I treat the topic like a liver at a frat party.

The next thing I know, Debs says "there must be something in the water around here."

Naturally, I replied "like what, my balls?"

I was then rudely sent home by Easy Ed Verhowski (who I have a bit of a history with).  Does anyone out there know what an unpaid suspension pending formal termination proceedings means?

I don't either.  I hate that Orwellian HR Officespeak that's all the rage today.

So was Denny totally, completely, unambiguously 100% in the right today?

I'll take your silence as a healthy, empathetic affirmation.

Denny DelVecchio

Monday, June 28, 2010

Advance #38: Waldenbooks Kicks Barnes & Noble's Pissy Little Ass

So, I hear you're out talking shit again--saying you prefer literary cyborg Barnes & Noble over dignified gentleman of refinement Waldenbooks.

Oh, okay, so Denny thinks he understands.

You're the joyless vulgarian who prefers Burlington Coat Factory to Rue St. Denis.

The shameless cuckold who would co-habitate with the Cloverdale Monster over Godzilla.

The friendless cur who favors the company of a Fleshlight to a good old-fashioned hot shower with a Loofah, bottle of Aussie Mega Rainforest Mist Conditioner and 20 good minutes to kill.

Are you feeling like the trend-sniffing troglodyte that you are?  That's right. Denny thinks so, too.

For my money, I want a bookstore where I can freely peruse racks full of 50% off 2010 Cats in Hats calendars, bury my nose in any one of 16 different magazines that I must buy if I read, or get lost in the Suzanne Somers Jazz Dancing Guidebook knowing that only one employee is on duty to shoo me homeward.

I also enjoy being asked three different times upon checkout if I'm totally sure I don't want to "join the Waldenbooks President's Club of Values because I can totally save 5% right now and up to 25% on future purchases... oh man can you please help me...this branch is closing in September and I just can't go back to giving $20 tugjobs in the bathroom of Carl's Jr.  just so I don't have to move back in with Randy, that three timing uteromaniac who's probably back with that skanky trull from "Thighs On You"over by the airport...wait...wait... You forgot your receipt."

But you probably already knew that.

I love you, Waldenbooks. You can move in above my garage anytime if the worst comes to pass.

Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Quick Medical Question

Can any of my hard-working DelVecchians out there tell a brother what a hydrocele is and, if it happens to be a massive engorgement of the Groin Sentinels, how to soothe it?

Much love in advance from Double D for the data.

Denny DelVecchio

Big shout out to premieryarns.com--a DelVecchio favorite for over 50 years. 

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Regress #35: Hurricane Masturbates Quietly In Pacific

Although a savage tropical cyclone will surely one day make us all pay for my present attitude that man is, at all times and in all ways, dominant over nature, this inert eunuch of a storm isn't going to be the one to do it.

Denny DelVecchio


Friday, June 25, 2010

Advance #37: Team Mr. Molina

Scores of mindless coquettes pledge their hearts to Edward.

Multitudes of unthinking dilettantes offer their souls to Jacob.

Some selfish folk even want it both ways.

But I call bullshit on anyone who earmarks their loins for either of these vacuous cultural fucktards. 

For Denny's Twilight Bucks, Mr. Molina and his gently tousled salt and pepper locks, perfect shoulder to hip ratio and Darwinesque understanding of our natural world make his libertine educator the easy choice for most sexually captivating luminary of Forks, Washington.

The Truth Hurts,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, June 24, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Good-Bye You Haggard Old Witch (aka 2009)

On occasion, Denny will drop an early post on that ass.  (Let's face it, you've never seen it before.)  This first ran on January 1, 2010.

I hope everyone brushed at least twice last evening.

While I didn't dabble much in the oral hygiene arts on New Year's Eve, I did get to shake my love canoe at a little soiree tossed by one Brandi Marie Longsdorff aka Miss September 1987. Mujer Boner Alert!

Don't hate me because I had the privilege of resting my peepers upon the types of Amazonian dolls that you had tucked between your box spring and mattress for the better part of the sad, gimp years better known as your teens twenties.

Don't hate me because I was able to throw down four burgundy mojitos before you had the top off of your first Natty Light.

And definitely don't hate me because I did it all dressed in nothing more than my party jockstrap, Ralph Lauren leather funkpants and powder blue velour oxford unbuttoned to within a hairsbreadth of my musky badlands.

Hate me because I did it all with your Mom on my arm.

Oh, it's Unbelievable!!!

Your Daddy,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Take The Wheel, Eloise Henderson

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

I must confess that, when I was a younger woman, I didn't think too much of soccer. It seemed like a pointless game played by a gaggle of sissy-kicking thespians with odd names who were afraid to use their hands like real men did.  

I know my Ed, Lord rest his soul, wouldn't have been caught dead in the knee-high bobby sox and tap shoes that the circus freaks seemed to favor.

Yes, the thought of offering up my loins to one of the nylon shorts-sporting eunuchs once would have seemed like heretic for this properly-raised Midwestern Lutheran girl.

But then a few weeks back, as I flipped through my 11 cable stations after Fox & Friends, I was introduced to you, my sweet, guilty obsession.  And I had never seen anything so beautiful in my 67 years on this earth. 

Your noble, heroic eyes twinkled with puckish glee.  Your strong thighs served notice that you would take what you wanted when you wanted it.  And that boyish yet confident air of yours awakened my long aching she-regions from their 20 year death-slumber. 

At that moment I knew that I would do anything for you, Landon Donovan. 

And now that your U.S. squad sits a win away from advancing to something or other that I'm sure is very important to you, I'm willing to cast aside the humble virtues of my womanhood to offer this singular proposition: Win your game tomorrow and I'll let you hit this any which way but loose.

Yes, you heard me right, Mr. Donovan.  If your team triumphs Wednesday I will let you rock my feminine flesh temple right. Oh yes, we will biblically recline in my sweet feather bed on and on until the break of dawn.

Please don't think of me as some sort of sexual wastrel.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I'm a polite woman of virtue who has been with only one man, but is willing to offer up her still viable ladybits to the Pleasure Gods if that's what it takes to deliver a win for you. 

So my tender, prematurely balding vanilla Ewok, Eloise has made her offer and her offer is final.  

I eagerly await your answer.

Eloise (Lundagard) Henderson
Hibbing, Minnesota 

Monday, June 21, 2010

Advance #36: Clay Aiken's Back In Full Effect

Although it has long been out there that me and R-Studds used to kick it in middle school with our silky R&B outfit EMackUlation, I'm not above giving some DelVecchian love to his unsightly, rose-domed runner-up when called for.
So imagine my surprise yesterday when, sandwiched between my 3:30 lonely housewife sexting emergency and 8:15 Queening seminar, I stumbled upon the delightful, folksy jam to the north.   

Clay Aiken has not only aged well, but hath gotten a fair measure more comely since Hee-Hawing his way into America's bloomers half a decade ago.

And, I must say, it takes a special someone to make a semen-inspired coif look more natural than even the esteemed Dame Cameron Diaz did in her nuanced, Streepian star-turn back in 1998.

Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, June 20, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: An Ode To Father's Day

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

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Regress #34: The California Switchblade

This magnificent, faux-bronzed Guidoburger almost makes me want to get roped for DUI just so The California Switchblade can be the proverbial nail file in my prison cake.

WARNING: This is the closest you will come all week to literally punching your computer monitor.

Mouth Agape,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, June 18, 2010


My recent report that suggested Abe Vigoda had died broken and penniless of auto-erotic asphyxiation in a Calcutta brothel was incorrect.

Mr. Vigoda, sources say, is alive and in good spirits in Westwood where he shares an upscale town home with his devoted beagle
Wojciehowicz and an enravishing, pouty-breasted UCLA sophomore identified only as "Miranda."

Your New Bad Habit regrets the error.

Red Faced,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Advance #35: Cop Rock

Before there was the too good to be straight super duper straight Mr. Shu, there was the incomparable Mayor Louise Plank.

Before Sue Sylvester haunted our Valleys of Insecurity, Detective Dr. Romano pranced his way into our hearts as a community rep theater headliner woefully miscast as a show tune-spouting officer of the law.

Yes, kids, before there was Glee there was Cop Rock, an ahead-of-its-time lead blocker for the scores of offerings to come that successfully fused made for TV legal melodrama with low grade Broadway shimmies into a pitch-perfect, pelvis-rocking stew. For one show to expose so many of our nation's collective insecurities in such a neat package was, in a word, remarkable.

I know some lawyers and a few have shared with me the deep, soulful wish they have had to show the world that the law and the dance are equal partners in crafting modern jurisprudence. 

You want to secure a damning statement from a slimy witness who says that your perp could not possibly have pulled the trigger? Well I say cue the band, snap your fingers, and raise the roof in a blast of musical truth that can leave no doubt that he's a detestable cock-bite who would sell his own mother for a $10 blowjob.

You know the only thing Cop Rock was guilty of?  How about having the bold vision and audacity to want to dance into America's hearts, shut the door and never leave. For that I will always love Bochco's failed darling.

Missing you,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Regress #33: Bite Me Hard, Colicchio

You just ripped America's heart out by selfishly robbing us of our new culinary prince.

May you one day soon be back on fry duty where you belong, you scowling bald lackwit.

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Advance #34: My Imaginary, Illustrated French Family

I'm so glad that I can finally introduce you to my cool, hastily-drawn French family.

Meet Henri, Sophie, Jean-Luc and Thérèse DelVecchio. They're the greatest.

What?  Hiding them from you?

Au contraire, mon ami. Denny just needed to wait until the right time to tell you.

I had to make sure that you'd be truly happy for us--without a hint of the cankered jealousy that you unfurled upon learning of the white hot groin-vacation I enjoyed with your sister-in-law at the 2005 North Mesa Clogger's Retreat.

Anyway, I'm off to engorge myself in Sophie's trademark grenouille aubergine, followed by a spongebath from the beguiling Thérèse, who, by the way, just finished her first year at Sarbonne.  (That's Denny's college girl!)

Merci Beaucoup,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, June 14, 2010

Regress # 32: I Was Almost A New Bohemian

It was 1996.

I was at a crossroads in my feral young life, loving like a 70s stag film flesh magistrate and always at the ready for the night's next big thrill.

And then I met "Edie" in the baked goods aisle at Cousins supermarket.  And nothing was ever the same again.

She was in town playing a free show for the Camden Tulip Fest, and had a "bit of the grumbles" which could only be satiated by a marbled pecan bear claw.  As the sweet dews of fate would have it, I already had the last one lovingly cradled in my musky paw.

We shared that nectarous pastry, I called her a Poor Man's Natalie Merchant, and 16 minutes later I was freaking her.

The Winds of the Gods continued to blow forcefully that day, as New Bohemian bassist John Bradley Houser had to undergo an emergency uvula excision. And Edie was suddenly missing half of her rhythm section.

That night I made sweet passion to the crowd--even going off the set list to play an aching, atmospheric solo cover of Peter Cetera's timeless The Glory of Love.

After the lights went down, she asked me to give it all up to become a New Bohemian--to leave the comfortable life I knew behind and venture into tomorrow hand in hand with her.

But, as you might imagine, I was simply getting way too much top notch Camden Community College tail to go that direction.

Hard Rain's Gonna Fall,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, June 11, 2010

Advance #33: The Second Revolutionary War

I thought that one patriotic ass-thumping would have been enough, but it looks like the redcoats want another crack at the red, white and blue in the World Cup of Football.

But just like the first time, America--still 50 states strong as they were during the Revolutionary War-- is going to beat down their pale cousins from across the big lake--beat them down like a ridiculous double decker bus. (If the bus were to be beaten down in some appropriate manner.)

And there's nothing this Handsome Devil or any of their other players can do about it when--not if, but when--Larry Fitzgerald gets behind Ashley Cole for 6.

Denny's Prediction:

U.S.A  49
England  0

Engorged With Pride,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Regress #31: Paying Lost Bets

Your love is my drug.

There, we're even now.

But I still say, contrary to your chivalrous assertions, that Julie LeTrassio majorly hooked up with Cameron Whelkur (twice) on the company ski trip to New Mexico last winter.

Want to go again, you feckless ingenue?

Mr. Bitterkins,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Regress #30: Tom Cruise Has Gone To Shit

Although I prefer to remember him as the cocksure, lofty-cheekboned buck that delivered us the indelible Jerry Maguire, Mitch McDeere and Maverick, the Tom Terrific that I saw at the 2010 MTV Twilight Awards was a portly bald carapace of the grandeur that once was.

It's easy to want to lay this at the bound feet of his young prisoner wife, yet I can't help but think that the hirsute clown simply stopped taking care of his golden temple the way that Double D does.

Worse yet, it appears he's ripped his look straight from cubicle-jockey Ty Eason.

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Advance #32: I Finally Made My Katy Perry Move

Behold the actual transcript of my booty texts to one Katy Some Middle Name Perry last evening starting at 1:57 am Pacific Time (much love to the esteemed Hollywood valet and former classmate Sammy "Slim Bone" Delfino for the digits):

DD: holla
KP: who dis?

DD: denny motherfunkin dance, baby. and i want to rock that body rite
KP: ?????? u frndz w russ?

DD: Not since I saw him with that Venezuelan meat-hustler in West Hollywood last week.  russell brand who?
KP: OMFG. how u get this #?

DD: better gt him 2 the greek (doctor who has strong antibiotics)

DD: OMG....the text is coming from inside the house

DD: can i have some cherry Chapstick first?
KP: LMFAO. this iz luke isn't it?  had me goin u euro-bitch boy.

DD: k, time to get real.  no more frontin'. it's denny delvecchio of Your New Bad Habit. I heard you liked my flow.

DD: katy?

DD: miss perry?

DD: your new song with the D-OH Double G is fly.

DD: boxers.

DD: wld u mind replying soon, because my txts are 10 cents each. tnx.

DD: yo momma's so fat she's on both sides of yr family

DD: k...didn't mean that last 1. srry.  uncalled 4.

DD: i'm just a boy standing in front of a girl asking her to love him 

DD: the human body hz 212 bones. u wnt to make it 213? 

DD: srry...that wuz a crazy idea.

DD: the boy standing in front of a girl 1 not the extra bone 1

DD: u have an okcupid.com profile?

DD: i'm ebonyprince77

DD: j/k. i've nvr heard of okcupid.com

DD: k...can we start over?

[end of transcript]

Her Move Now,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, June 7, 2010

Advance #31: Some "Me" Time

Instead of a lengthy post extolling my pick for the finest Swedish Minister of Agriculture in postwar history, I've decided to have a little Denny Time tonight.

And you might have a guess what that means (wink wink)!

A cozy pair of red sweatpants, a yummy Vanilla Velvet Mochaccino and Season 3 of Designing Women on BlueRay.

Somebody's lounging in heaven right now.

Denny, that's who.

The Man,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Regress #29: Hippie Sticks

To all of the flyblown weed-jockeys* out there who think that twirling a fucking stick with two other sticks is a real sport, listen up: 

I understand that, outside of two guitar chords and hackysackosity,  you were not blessed with a traditional set of human coordination skills.

I have come to grips with the fact that even modest grooming is an anathema to your Middle Earthian sub-culture mores.

I realize that Phish, The Grateful Dead, Widespread Panic and the Dave Matthews Band are your lamentable barometers of hipness.

And I have the ability to breathe through my mouth, rather than nose, when your Patchouli-addled living carcass whisks past.

But I cannot stand idly by without informing you that the laughter you're hearing when you roll your sticks is not coming from the stoned dancing bears in your head.

It's coming from Denny Dance.

Denny DelVecchio

*In fairness, the fellow in the vid appears to favor songs (and looks) celebrating Jesus to those pimping herb 

Friday, June 4, 2010

Reasons Why God May Not Exist #4: This Sulferous Goblin

At risk of offering a nanosecond more attention than the fusty gasbag deserves, suffice it to say that his antebellum views on race, the fairer sex and faith have a willing slut of a bedfellow . . . the worst the 19th Century had to offer.

Although I have been accused of intellectually only seeing the world in black and white, that's still one color more than Boss Hogg Jake Knotts, Jr. has on his palate.

Political And Shit,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Regress #28: My Gateway Ad

I must admit that I had never seriously considered putting illegal chemicals into my sacred pleasure temple until viewing this apocalyptic, L.A. Gear-fueled 80s anti-dope plea.

But it simply made not using drugs seem far too demoralizing.

Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Spoiler Alert #6: The Planet Of The Apes

One of the first romantic comedies that I ever saw, this simian masterpiece is best known for a shocking reveal at the end of its third act that people are still buzzing about forty years later:

The apes had built an exact scale model replica of the upper half of the Statue of Liberty on their sinister troglodyte-helmed planet.

I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we never saw that twisted masterstoke coming.

Bravo, Frankie Schaffner you magnificent bastard  Bravo.

Not Prescient,
Denny DelVecchio

Please Disregard Previous Post

A private note to a dear friend was published in error.

I sincerely apologize.

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

To The Beguiling Tipper Gore

June 1, 2010

Dearest Tipper-

I hope this missive finds you well, and I can't tell you how long I've waited for this beautiful day--one where I can finally lay my myriad emotions bare at your supple bosom.

I've spent the better part of my adult life patiently biding my time in the hopes that, one day, the two of us would be able to consummate my love for you.

It now seems, Mary Elizabeth (wink wink), that my patience is about to be richly rewarded. And at last you can find both passion and acceptance in my tender, muscular arms. 

Hush, child.  Denny doesn't need an answer now.  It has surely been a grueling day for you, and I want your aching acceptance of my love to unleash itself after an honest night's rest.  That's the least I can do for my beautiful little nymphet.

Have I eschewed the pleasures of the flesh as I waited for you?   No more than you did, I'm sure.  But please know I don't begrudge you even a single night of carnal delight that may have arisen in your marital bed.That's your cross to bear.

I was once married, too.  And I know the unique brand of love that can only exist between a man and the woman he called his wife for just under 6 days.

So, my elegant queen, slumber peacefully this evening, and drop Denny a text tomorrow AM so we can perpetrate the hook-up. I recommend we meet somewhere between your East Coast and my Arizona.  Let's say Texas.

Tipper Gore DelVecchio.  I think I could get used to that.

All Of My Love,
Denny DelVecchio

P.S.: I've always hated Dee Snider.