Monday, May 31, 2010

Advance #30: My Favorite Fan

Surely you must know by now that you're my favorite fan.

Don't be coy--embrace it.

You have the body of a young, female Eric Nies, and a beguiling way that hasn't been seen since Drew Barrymore led our hearts and libidos astray back in 1992.

And you understand me.  I won't soon forget that. Some wouldn't make much of your two visits to this site totaling 7 minutes over a four week period, but to me you're a shimmering angel of light.

Your lover said they'd leave if you didn't stop worshiping prostrate at my feet.  You swung open the door for them to exit your life forever. That's Denny's brave girl.

Your parents told you that you were no child of theirs. You smiled and cheerfully revealed to Grant and Renee that Your New Bad Habit was nothing compared to how you had made Def Leppardian love to Shaun DiLoretto three times in 37 minutes last year--in their marital bed.  You left them, mouths agape, and moved into the efficiency apartment of your dreams.

The South Dakota State University women's hockey team abandoned you. Did my special princess frown? Not that little fighter. She drove her Zamboni of Pride away from the rink without looking back. And her old squad lost the next night to Mankato State 12-2. In your face, ice harpies!

I will never forget you, favorite fan. A Your New Bad Habit hoodie (see above) and Season 1 of The Ropers on DVD have already been dispatched.

Yours In Love,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Advance #29: Denny Was Just Accepted To College!

Although I secured my G.E.D. almost 15 years ago (and have had my Ph.D. in The Genital Arts for over a decade), I have always longed to be a college man like the father of some guy I knew back in Jersey who completed almost two full semesters at Rutgers-Camden Extension back in the late 70s.

Well I am both humbled and totally stoked to announce that I have just been accepted to, as they say in Europe, University.

I have long wanted to be an artist, and Mr. Marzetti once told me in junior high that I painted "just like a retarded Van Gough." I  have kept that amazing compliment close to my heart ever since.

This is the drawing that got me in.

In truth I thought Terrapin Sexplosion was a tad broad as I have always considered myself a stylistic disciple of pre-Expressionist Fauves like Matisse and Rouault.  My brash and aggressive use of colors and textures would seem to bear that out. 

Amazingly, I already start school in 10 days at the Glendale branch of the world-renowned Art Instruction Schools. I have to be sure to ask the Registrar about my dorm, and can't wait to get a healthy peek at the co-eds in their apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur.

It's gonna be a great year.

Pomp and Circumstance,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, May 28, 2010

Stop Denny From Going Back To Stripping


The unusual massing of pelvic and cerebral kinetics that is Your New Bad Habit is all that stands between me and having to shamefully peddle my sweltering flesh in a brave effort to halt the pending foreclosure on my friends' homes to make way for the new Astoria Country Club.

Don't let the dream die.

If you like what you see on this site, tell your friends about me.  Add me as a link to your site. Become a Facebook "liker" or a Google Follower (below to the right), or any other classy/lawful thing you can think of that brings us closer together.

If nothing else, do it for Chunk.

Much Obliged,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #28: Something Dreadfully Cute For A Horrific Day


Today was what can best be described as a day from the Planet Fuckyoutron, as the BP lotion has not been put in the basket, an inspiring icon of my childhood has crossed over into to the golden light, and I have to travel back to Camden to Memorial Day it up with an evil cadre of DelVecchios I'd rather not be seen in public with.

So, yeah, I'm going there with this so cute I want to wretch creation from Nerf Herder's resident genius Parry Gripp.

Hopefully,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Denny's Bucket List #2: Outlive You


As I continue with my periodic list of things that I must do before I leave this illuminant, earthlike planet, I can't help but turn a bit competitive.

Because perhaps the most important thing for me to accomplish before I die is dying after you.

That's right, I must insist that you feed from the bitter trough of mortality before I do.

Surely you concede that Denny has an abundance of grand schemes just aching to come to fruition while your modest aspirations--likely to include some combination of taking a commercial airline flight, learning to whistle the love theme from Saw II and finally getting to second base with Maria Lavacelli--suggest a future far less lustrous than my own.

Don't get me wrong, friend: I'm in no hurry to witness your demise, and have no present plans to accelerate it in any fashion, be it a duel, a drizzle of Polonium 210 in your lemonade or unleashing a bloodthirsty she-jackal into your sleeping quarters.

In fact, since I plan to live to the healthy age of 112, you can yet witness several decades worth of glorious sunrises while still managing to return to humble dust well before Denny Dance does.

Fair enough?  Good.

It's settled then.

All Smiles,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Regress #27: This Forgettable Cipher Just Won Something Or Some Shit

I'm not 100% sure, but I think that the doe-eyed goblin with an itchy hind-head pictured to the left just, like, did something of note in an undermined area of the arts or sciences.

I don't have any details, but it probably involved chasing a dream and/or believing in himself  and/or looking a lot like Tim Tebow, America's beefy new Touchdown Messiah.

I'm going to go and track down what this anonymous spiv accomplished, and if I find out I'll post it forthwith on these hallowed pages of ill repute.

Until then, if any DelVecchians out there can tell me why he is not still locked in brutal, dream-shriveling mundanity somewhere making $5 footlongs, please drop me a quick note.

With Alacrity,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Advance #27: Severing Diplomatic Relations



In a fiery display of solidarity with this site's longtime allies in Seoul, Your New Bad Habit today formally cut all diplomatic ties with Pyongyang, catapulting its often percussive relationship with the cloistered state into icy new territory.

Besides my preternatural disdain for pygmy despots hell-bent on feasting on the loins of power at any cost, that lock-step marching video they always play on Fox and Friends creeps Denny the fuck out.

The truth is that I'm willing to settle this whole thing right now in the same manner by which hundreds of generations of rivals have: erotic jello wrestling.

The ball's in your court now, 'Lil Kim.

With Much Pride,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, May 24, 2010

Regress #26: 24 Going Dark

The greatest television program since She's The Sheriff has just gone dark forever.

So Denny Dance doesn't feel much like breaking off any tricks for that ass tonight.

Jack would have wanted it this way.

Suck it Murdoch, you empty-skulled spermwench. Suck it hard.

Bereaved,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Advance #26: Curling Up With A Good Book

Sometimes after a long weekend filled with anonymous liaisons, hip-swaying R&B dance moves and gluttonous imbibing, yours truly needs to recharge my battery by drawing a lavender-scented bubble bath, putting on some David Sanborn and letting the Calgon take me away.

Tonight is going to be just such a night at the DelVecchio sublet.

So if you had plans to unabashedly offer your ample flesh up to him for a night of tender, resplendent lovemaking, you must look elsewhere this evening.

But there's a better than even chance that tomorrow will be perfect.

Lost in another world,
Denny DelVecchio

(thanks to awful library books)

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Advance #25: The Schitbag

For that difficult to shop for wife, mother, aunt or concubine who seems to have everything, might your go-to style maven Denny Dance recommend a perfect gift for the pouty little estrogen-vessel?

Well I'm glad you asked, because I think it's high time that your best gal was enveloped in the warmth and elegance of a Schitbag.

Whether at the club, the market or a grimy, anonymous swingers party near the bus station, the Schitbag screams "I'm not afraid to wear something that both looks like a shitbag and is actually a Schitbag."

The cultured epicurean in you knows that I'm right.

Operators--likely several--standing by.

With Much Adoration,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, May 21, 2010

Denny's Not Well

If you had ever suffered from a clinical case of Genital Retraction Syndrome, perhaps you could better understand why walking--let alone posting hysterical, family-friendly bites of comic platinum--is nearly impossible for me right now.

Pray for your boy Denny.  If you think it will help me in any way, offer to ritually sacrifice something of value to you in order to more quickly allow me to heal.

In lieu of flowers or gifts, please make a cash donation in your name to morbidly obese fuckwad Jonah Hill.

Low,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Advance #24: Nick Lachey Will Heal Our Broken World

The global economy is in virtual free fall, two apocalyptic environmental disasters are cravenly mocking us in unison, and mud-slinging and paranoia are sinking our political discourse to new, unmined depths.

And the cruel troika of poverty, war and disease are plowing forward with sinister new traction.

Some are whispering that there's no hope for our future.

Well I say there sure the fuck is as long as the the Alabaster Groinasaurus is still dropping his silky smooth jams.

That's right--we need you more than ever, Nicky Dreams.

Step up, suggestively grind your svelte, percussive hips and coolly transform this broken world into your own personal pleasuredome.

Then impregnate our souls with your Miles Davis-esque Southern Ohio funk.

A Believer,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Regress #24: Hide Thine Eyes

Let me first state unequivocally that I have been bros with Japan Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama since we first did New York City's No Pants Subway Ride together back in 2007. 

And truth be told, I thought that a studded leather codpiece that fateful morning was a bold stroke for Yuki, to say the least.  It certainly put my SeƱor Elephante number to shame.

But having shared so many laughs and loves with another person--even if he's the boss of a leading Asian democracy--does not forbid Denny from playing the honesty card.

And I'm pained to say that Peter Lord, as he's known in some Phoenix hipster circles, has lost his way in the fashion woods, and I don't see any bread crumbs, love.

Yukio, Bubby, you need to start thinking of those you're hurting. Repent, my son, by humbly laying your hideous apocalypse of a garment on the bare ground and engulfing it in a welcome conflagration of atonement.

Domo Arigato,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, May 17, 2010

Regress #23: Not Getting The Joke


I'm a mirthful gentleman who has been known to share a light moment or two with the world.  In fact, I usually get the joke--sometimes before it's even a joke yet. 

So you can imagine my shock and surprise when my ex-wife's smokin' little sis Vicki forwarded me the above video, mentioning in her note that it was "piddle in your velour hotpants funny."

I've watched it 13 five times and I still don't see where the joke is. I found the journalists to be nothing but consummate professionals as they gently dealt with a serious public health story of some import.

And my velour hotpants are dry as the Sahara.

Vexed,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Take the Wheel, God (And Apologize to BP)

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


                                         MEMORANDUM

FROM: GOD, KING OF THE UNIVERSE AND ALL THINGS HOLY AND JUST

TO: TONY HAYWARD, CEO BP, PLC

DATE: MAY 16, 2010 A.D.

RE: MY GULF OF MEXICO
____________________________________________________________

Oh, hello there, Tony. God here.

Sorry to trouble your waters on what must be another excruciating day of watching 200,000 more gallons of your precious liquid gold politely tip-toe into my Gulf of Mexico.

I am empathetic to your plight, old chap, as I have also seen my share of disasters from time to time, such as the Black Plague of 1348 and the Trail Blazers drafting Sam Bowie over Michael Jordan in 1984. In the parlance of today's youth, I feel you, homeboy.

So, despite your recent trying moments, I hope that you will embrace and accept my sincere and heartfelt apologies. Rest your weary head, child. You've earned it.

My vast, bio-rich coastal waters have been an economic and public relations minefield for your feral, hopelessly spewing petroleum for some time now, and by all accounts this is causing you headache after headache and much unwanted--and undeserved--guilt. A loving God simply cannot let that happen.

Without the deaths of millions of sea creatures and the potential collapse of a spate of vital coastal industries hanging over you, you'd be better able to collect your thoughts and (1) move toward some heady solutions regarding BP's hemorrhaging stock price and/or (2) more efficiently be able to shift responsibility for this disaster to a third party.

I can ask for forgiveness in 1,922 dialects, but I'll focus on your native tongue for now: I'm so very, very sorry, Tony.  You have my word that I will do everything in my ample power to hide the apocalyptic ecological and economic after-effects of your spill from the masses so that you and your lovely family may have some peace of mind (and one hell of a "Christmas 2010" in the Swiss Alps).  It's the only right thing to do.

Of course, you realize that my doing so will invalidate all contracts that you may currently have with my chief rival.  But then you already know that.

"Me"speed,
God

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Regress #22: Suck It, Dick Wolf

As I so presciently noted to anyone who would listen back in 1990, the delicate and discriminating whims of the American viewing public would never embrace a convoluted, fantastical Centaur of a melodrama that was one half slapstickian police bungling and one half sex-fueled prosecutorial hijinks--especially if it was resting its hopes on those such as ill-cast funnyman Sam Waterston.

And so I victoriously ask you, Dick Wolf, what you have to say about my quaint little prediction now?

The prosecution rests, Your Honor.  The prosecution rests.

Validated,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, May 14, 2010

Advance #23: Decidedly Feminine Vigilante Justice

I've become quite fond of this sweet snapshot from a gentler time and place, where a buxom young ingenue was actively encouraged to wield a savage, high-caliber deathblaster whenever answering her door at 3:00 AM robed in nothing but a flowing satin nightgown and the sweet curves her Maker bestowed upon her.

Fire away, love.

With Many Blessings,
Denny DelVecchio





(Thanks to The Copyranter for introducing me to this gun-toting hussy.)

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Advance #22: Is Miranda Cosgrove The Next Karen O?



Is it just me or is this moody, atmospheric masterstroke reminiscent of something we'd have expected to see from a Summer Sun-era Yo La Tengo or, perhaps, a pre-Sam Fogarino Interpol?

Take a listen and judge for yourself.

Standing By,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Regress #21: People Saying Stupid Shit

I lament people saying dumb shit.

Like when my sad little shrink tells me that loving my step-aunt Liz was something that should never have been--like German Jazz. But I always saw it as two intelligent, consenting adults enjoying each other's physical fruits.

I had a buddy back in Jersey, Stevie McRae, that always--always--said dumb shit.

Stevie's magical gifts were wonderful, guilt-free entertainment for Mankind.  And even though he left this earth after choking on a nickel, he's in a better place now, waiting for his sweet musical prince, Bob Seger, to join him in forging a loving eternity up amongst the stars.

So, in honor of my boy Stevie, and to provide some free entertainment to you, I submit the Ten Five Most Idiotic Things I've Ever Heard Said (Live): Like the Black Eyes Peas told me, Awesome talk, ahem!

1. Ed Belzer, circa 2002: My bud Ed has these enormous, aircraft carrier feet--size 13--and one day his "maybe" lady Jess, who I considered a poor man's Kathy Griffin, flashed him a naughty smile and said "Oh, you do have big feet.  You know what they say about big feet." How does slick respond? "I've heard about that big feet equals big wiener thing, but it's a total myth. I'm hung like Herve Villechaize." I almost vomited.

2. Danny Wilkins, circa 1983: "Don't worry. It's just a vacuum nozzle. This is going to totally kick ass."  Three Words: Pelvic Skin Graft No comment.

3. Alexis Norris-Wayne, circa today: "Oh my God, that New Bad Habit site is so lame. Kylie from Delta Upsilon told me it rocked, but she's a Xanax Queen who thinks Seth Rogen is the next Cary Grant and is sleeping with her Econ T.A. from Swaziland, so shame on me. I'm going to drop that website like an old bad habit."  Hey, Lexi...I can't wait for the 10 year so I can see you and that beautiful 75 pound fraternal twin who lives around your waistline.

4. Mrs. Barbara Lewis aka my Branch Manager Jay Lewis' Mom, circa 2007: "I know you think that you can bed me with your rapier wit, strong jaw and perfect shoulder to hip ratio, but I'm a happily married woman, who is deeply in love with her devoted husband and can't just be charmed nude by every five dollar, Faberge Lothario that shakes his groin in my direction."  Please don't still be angry with me, Jay. And I'd really prefer it if you'd call me Dad now.

5. Phil Knight, Nike CEO, circa summer 2009: "Forget making billions on the backs of 11 year old Cambodians, having my man Tiger on the team is like captaining my own federal reserve bank. Nothing can derail that kid.  He's more focused than an electron microscope on Phenotropil."  Phil, he had three billion dollars and a penis. It was really only a matter of time.

Your New Doubles Partner,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Spoiler Alert #5

You have now been properly warned.

Muted,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, May 10, 2010

Regress #20: Plastic Surgery

I don't have any fancy advanced degrees, and my only past cosmetic surgery involved my Genghis Khanian prostate gland.

But I can securely assert that I'm never going to a nose mechanic that posts a billboard of himself sipping a glass of champagne and cradling a fucking cat with a bow-tie.

Especially if said lip-deflowering butcher practices medicine on Miccosukee Road.

And you thought Denny Dance didn't have old fashioned values.

Perpetually yours,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Advance #21: A Belated Happy Birthday To Steve Perry's Bulge

I realize that there's not a single valid excuse for my tardiness, but I still want to send a sincere and humble 61st birthday wish to Steve Perry's ample, unapologetic man-bulge.

It has been such an inspiration to so many of us over the years, and I can say on a personal level that it has gotten me through some pretty dark times.

Although it inexplicably didn't take the gig with Digital Underground in 1990, I never lost my faith.  Because I knew it was doing God's work somewhere.

So Denny would like to raise a glass to an American original.  Feliz Cumpleanos, Captain Eduardo.

Best Regards,
Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Regress #19: Tell Them The Truth, Progressive Flo

There are actually human beings--or very close--who choose to believe that you're an auto insurance huckster rather than a Lucifer-spawned Emissary of Perdition.

And putting that small detail aside for a moment, I can still think of several entertainment industry namesakes who have comfortably exceeded your level of "Flo" realness.

Hurts doesn't it?

Your Revlon Lot Lizard Luscious lip paint and Rocky Horror Transvestite eye shadow only further suggest your true identity as one of the Beast's earth-stationed minions. I half expect a 1-900 number to start crawling across the screen offering your carnal services to the sad and lovelorn roaming the Church of Satan.

What's crystal clear is that you're going to fail in your lurid quest for our souls. You can take that to the bank.

Denny intends to stop the legions of misinformed, cartoonish disciples from believing that you're something you're not.  And make no mistake, you cloven-hoofed shill--they will learn the truth.

Without irony,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, May 7, 2010

Regress #18: The Golden Girls As Sex Objects

No thank you.

I must politely decline.

Can I take a raincheck?

It's not you, it's me.

Most of my male acquaintances right now are trying to turn me on to the feminine wiles of the decade-heavy Methuselas to the left.

And don't get Denny wrong--he has a taste for the lusty wine that can spring from well-aged grapes.

But with all due respect, I just can't recline with someone I've looked up to as a 3rd, 4th, 5th or 6th grandmother since the late 80s.

However, if rib-tickling sitcom delight is the order of the day, I'm doubling down on this gentle quadrangle of laughter.

No Need To Thank Me,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Denny's Bucket List #1: Own a Pony

Over the next 30-40 years, I'll be showcasing for you some of the mountains (and comely ladies) I want to climb before the lease on my Earthly vessel expires and I'm lovingly hoisted up to my dazzling astral estate.

Turning now toward my first entry on this grand list, I fully intend to secure a radiant, well-muscled young horse who will serve as the loyal, non-judgmental friend and confidant that I so richly deserve.

Although it seems like the stuff of science fiction right now, the sands of time may render me a joyless shell of the wanton, husky-shouldered bon vivant that you see before you today.

And who will be there for Denny? My toy-thoroughbred Muggsy, that's who.

With her pristine yellow bows, buoyant leg-bells and empathetic smile that always says "I'll love you no matter what, Papa" we'll be fast friends--the kind who can tell each other anything.

My pony will be a pint-sized, spiritually regal creature that never judges. A humble beast who can provide love, warmth and, in the event of a prolonged famine, a ready source of protein.

So the countdown has officially begun.  I'm coming for you, Muggsy Malone.

Your Future Daddy,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Advance #20: Denny's Dandies

Greetings, DelVecchians.

Although it may be difficult to believe from where you're sitting, even your boy Denny Dance sometimes avails himself of a "Gentleman's Overture" or two in order to increase his odds of biblically reclining with any number of otherwise virtuous, doe-eyed misses.

Yes, on occasion even my carnal tractor beam is off. You may stop shaking your head in disbelief.  It makes you look rabid.

On the off chance that you can pry your way from the Myst chatroom this evening to join the party going down at your local pool hall or deserted farmhouse, you might consider utilizing one of the following DelVecchio-approved icebreakers. All are guaranteed to keep the panties dropping:

"You're an elegant, bewitching beauty. Would you mind pooping on me?"

"Can I show you my etchings?"

"I hope you don't think I'm being forward, but I've taken the liberty of booking a trip for us to Bootyland. Our Itinerary: Pleasure."

"I know what you're thinking, but I love a gorgeous, glowing pregnant woman."

"So where exactly do you stand on the issue of premature ejaculation?"

"Do you, by any chance, have a picture of your mother handy?"

"If you were my burger, you definitely would not be on the value menu.  You'd be one of the special ones that are, like, $3.99, and are served with tomatoes and lettuce and onions. And fries. And maybe a drink."

Happy hunting, lads!

With Copious Love,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, May 3, 2010

Advance #19: My Supple New Queen?


If any loyal DelVecchians out there know this statuesque enchantress' digits, please quickly (but discreetly) fire them my way via our pre-arranged method.

I'll make it worth your while like only Denny can.

With Some Urgency,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Reasons Why God May Not Exist #3

Despite my warp-speed intellectual curiosity and dazzling green-hazel eyes (which have seen more undergarments seesaw than a Frederick's of Hollywood changing room), I've never actually maintained that I'm all-knowing.  

I don't claim to have all the answers like Paul Rudd or Dame Loni Anderson do. Or understand what mystic, physical machinations allow the sun to revolve around our big blue marble. Or how this shit happened. I don't even know if I was birthed via C-Section or the way my mother told me I emerged--through the lower 1/2 of her alimentary canal.

I know what you're thinking and, yes, I am a certifiable Shaman of the Genital Arts, but that does not mean that I know all. Chin up there, friends. I still do okay.

That all said, I am unwilling to put my full faith and credit behind the existence of any hateful deity that would allow this ruinous dramatic offering to fester like a dripping boil on His otherwise wondrous creation.

When Mindy pleaded each week for Mork to safely descend that goalpost, I, even at a mere 7 years old, knew the right answer: Jump, Mork, you witless, Pam Dawber-deflowering carbuncle. You dimply, backward-aging troll from the bowels of our galaxy.  

God, if you are there, I'd like a second penis.  I also implore you (or anyone else you feel is up for it) to fly backward around the earth and make this manic goblin disappear from the human consciousness. 

Then our world would be down one hirsute alien with more Vicodin flowing through his veins than life-sustaining green blood.  And we'd be sixpence all the richer.

Die, Mork from Ork, die.

Orson this,
Denny DelVecchio