Sunday, October 3, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: 8:45 AM on Interstate 17

I was awakened this morning by the thunderous hum of a passing 18-wheeler. As my eyes opened from their shallow, troubled rest, I slowly took an inventory of my curious state.

I was shirtless and sporting a handsome satin Kimono. I had a fresh Team Jacob tattoo on my right upper thigh, and some Team Edward ink on my left. On my abdomen was thematically-unifying third leg to the triad.

I reeked of a several hours old Sambuca shot. No, make that two. I had been relieved of my eyebrow, and (as I later learned) painted in its place were thick, arched, Brooke Shieldsian facsimiles. A handsome pair of what looked to be hand-cut Dutch clogs adorned my feet. My socks were apparently long gone, as were any traces of my undergarments.

On the ground next to me was a small JanSport fanny pack. In it, on a ripped off portion of a carton of Pall Mall cigarettes, was this cryptic message. Also inside was a $25.00 check to me from someone named Miles Odenkirk with Shit Yeah, Bro written in the memo line, a Cantonese (?) dental dam, a half-eaten Nutter Butter, a classic Hardcore Rap CD and the phone number to a prominent Phoenix-area urologist.  And, perhaps most importantly, a disposable camera that included the photo to the upper left. I don't recall ever having met any of those people, but I have a distinct feeling that I know them fairly well at this point.

I can't say for sure, but I'm 80-85% convinced that I just had the best night of my life.  And probably the best night of any of your lives as well.

Glad tidings,
Denny DelVecchio 

8 comments:

Vodka and Ground Beef said...

Best night of my life is always with you Denny. Sambuca is always on tap.

This is excellent by the way, but you know my favorite part was that Buffalo Bill clip. Damn, he's something.

nursemyra said...

referring to your undergarments that way makes you sound almost sedate

ocdbloggergirl said...

Vanilla Ice, damn the kid don't play!

Dr. Cynicism said...

Beautiful. I mean, I sure thought it was. I was picking up on a bit of sarcasm in your writing though... so if you and Vodka and Ground Beef don't want to go camping with me and my friends anymore, just come right out and say so.

But, if you did truly enjoy our miraculous evening of magical emotional journeys, then I'd be all for doing it again sometime soon. (I thought we were supposed to keep this a secret, so I posted that I was on vacation over on my blog) Anyhow, just let me know. My life is forever changed.

bschooled said...

Call me a Twihard with a mild to severely moderate dutch-clogging fetish, but this just might be my favorite DD post ever.

Denny, it's safe to say that you're the Cult Jam to my Lisa Lisa.

For serious this time.

frigginloon said...

Serves you right for going on a date with Susi Spice!!!!

bluntdelivery said...

clogs, the bitter step-sister of crocs.

i just dozed off a bit thinking about nekkid Robert Patinson wearing a fanny pack. of course, i was trying to visualize you.

me =frustrated

Denny DelVecchio said...

@Vodka: Bill embodies humanity.

@Blunty: You can't spell frustrated without "us."

@Loon: "Date" is a little strong.

@B: Can I also be the Cult to your Ian Astbury?

@Doc Cyn: I'm always up for Wiccan camp outs with you and O'Donnell.

@OCD: Take heed 'cause I'm a lyrical poet.

@Good Nurse: You saying undergarments makes me decidedly not sedate.