Tuesday, August 31, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: A Very Special Boy (Advance #13)

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

Monday, August 30, 2010

Regress #46: Wow, This Is Awkward



Hello there. Steve, right? From purchasing?  How the hell have you been, bro?

That's fantastic! I hadn't heard that you were promoted to Region 6.2 team leader. That's really great, man.  Really great. And, I'm sure, well-deserved.

Wow . . . okay, this, uh, is appreciably more awkward than it was when I rehearsed it a few minutes ago in the bathroom mirror.

You probably just want me to cut to the chase, huh? Fair enough. You deserve that much.

The truth is that I'm in a bit of a pickle here and I'm wondering if you might be able to, you know, help a brother out.

Okay, so Denny was holding rhythmic court under the electric stars of Club Labyrinth last night when I saw a curvy, well-lubed night-minx prowling her way across the room in search of a little company.

My DelVecchian coyness was no match for her milky thighs, pouty breasts, well-seasoned femininity and azure, Come Here Now, Bitch! eyes. In a heartbeat we were in the V.I.P, twin slaves to a bottomless decanter of Patron and our newly-fused lust for the hunt.

By midnight, a graffiti-scarred bus shelter was all that stood between an urgent, tangled embrace of mutually-yearning flesh and the feral Phoenix night.

After I set her up with a kiss and bus fare (including J-line transfer) home, I quickly realized that I had forgotten to secure my tender Lioness' phone number.

I was resigned to chalking it up as another sad, temporal, ghost of a relationship until I passed your desk this morning and saw my vision--my Edith--smiling from a photo of your graduation from what appeared to be Maricopa County Community College.

So I'm wondering if you'd be so kind as to shoot me your Mom's digits today when you get a second.

Son.

Pops Veccs,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Regress #45: The So Called Night Time Emmy Awards

Disarmingly Awkward Mumblefuck Fallon
Can any of the cowardly, hubristic gobe-mouches who served as voters for the Emmy Awards that aired tonight explain to Denny how Fly Girls, The Deep End, Leave it to Lamas and the Lifetime Original Movie Bond of Silence starring Kim Raver of 24 all left empty handed?

For now, I'm going to lay the sad debacle at the impish size 5 1/2 feet of the dead-eyed gimp trapped in the football team's laundry hamper better known as Jimmy Fallon.

Fingers Tapping,
Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, August 28, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: "My Kid Is Funny" Posts on Facebook (Regress #4)

Not everyone gets to lead the edgy, devil-may-care lifestyle that I do, so Double D has come to accept that Facebook is likely to remain a glistening, hell-spawned pustule on humankind's hindquarters for at least the next 6-8 months.

So, if you want to tell the world about the cloven hoof that you're growing,  fire away. Or if you feel compelled to update the Eastern Seaboard on the fact that Bobby Accento (pictured here on the right) shoved his girthy tounge down your windpipe after bartime in a stuffy, poorly lit back hallway at The Argonaut, rock on.

But what I will not accept as a brainy, cocksure artist with a pitch-perfect gangsta swagger are updates about your younglings. Your progeny. Your spawn. It simply won't be tolerated.

So that tiny "baby-you" in the high-chair just gurgled three consonant-less utterings in a row without throwing up all over themselves? Sorry, Moms, they just didn't draft the Magna Carta. They didn't perfect cold fusion. They didn't manage to get a bipartisan healthcare overhaul sewed up.

And please don't tell me how funny your wee one is. 95% of what they do is "gouge my eyes out" unfunny. The other 5% involves bodily functions, which can be funny, but probably isn't in their case (unless it has coated you in some way).

Parents, here's the scale you need to use for your kids and Facebook:

(1) "I think my Dora is the funniest baby in human history" really means "The fact that my Dora jammed three fluid ounces of strained apricots into her nasal cavity is, for most people, mildly amusing and worthy of a tiny pity-snicker."

(2) "Our little Ben is a hilarious baby boy" really means "My cross-eyed scamp once birthed a brown submarine the size of Long Island while bathing, but usually cries 13 hours a day until I "quarter dose" them with Robitussin. Yeah, he's a real giggle machine."

(3) "Davie, my sweet little charmer, made this adorable video for Youtube last week when he pretended to be Will.i.am while dancing in Daddy's cowboy boots" really means "I should never have procreated with Country Jerry."

(4) "My little babycakes Kylie is such a serious little snookie, but she can sometimes be Momma's silly boo boo" really means "My Kylie is a joyless little troll who has roughly 74 sad, wanting years left until she departs this Earth friendless and alone."

Now you know.  And don't you feel a bit ashamed looking back?  If not, I'll feel appropriately ashamed for you.

Glad tidings,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Decision 2010: Phoenix or Los Angeles?

 

In what is sure to send shockwaves through social calendars/panties in Los Angeles County's most populous city, Denny is considering casting his hopes and dreams in his '78 El Camino and heading west to live out his most lurid Hollywood fantasies.

Although I can't think of what it could be, a powerplay this brazen must have a potential downside somewhere. So I'm asking my servile DelVecchians to weigh in on whether this is a wise move for the Danceman.

In Your Hands,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Spoiler Alert #8: And Katy Perry Ends Up With.....


She began her meandering journey toward the bewitching erotic truths found in and around Denny's bulging velvet hotpants as an acne-scarred crooner for Jesus.

Then came the predictable "Ditch God" phase, where her producer forced her into an unusually lurid form of white slavery better know as lesbianic-themed, chart-topping popular music.

Her third act began with living out her Mother Theresarian fantasy of first befriending, then biblically-reclining with a kindly, bearded Anglo hobo she first gazed upon urinating himself in a sperm-pocked West Hollywood alley.

And how does this twisty little morality play end?

With KP lovingly cradling Denny Dance and a phat bottle of Courvoisier in front of the fire on Christmas Eve 2017, as our twins Zan and Jana playfully open their presents with their pert 22 year old live-in Estonian nanny Elenora in tow--that's how.

Happy Ending,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Is Miranda Cosgrove The Next Karen O? (Advance #22)


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

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Advance #52: It's My Motherfunkin' Birthday

Not a lot of time to chit-chat today, DelVecchians, as Denny will soon be off to confidently enfleshen any number of skankatronic Phoenix-area sauceboxes until the break of dawn. But I wanted to make sure that you were on notice that today is significantly more important to you than you thought it was.

Yes, it was on this date many moons ago that Denny sprang, fully moustached, from Arabella Madonna DelVecchio's life-giving maternal Chia Pet.

Although I typically eschew gifts that are not attached to and/or that don't originate with another's body, I prepared a list of items that, if you're so inclined, would make my minute when opened:

Cash.

Denny has exactly $7.11 and three Southwest Airlines drink coupons to get me to the end of August unless I decide to peddle my loins as I was last forced to do in 2008 (remember "Too Big To Fail"?).

Still Growing,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, August 20, 2010

Advance #51: Denny's Been A Shake Weight For Roughly 20 Years



A mammoth DelVecchian "you're welcome" to roughly 1,387 ladies spanning three continents, nine countries and 14 time zones.

Feeling It In Your Chest,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, August 19, 2010

"Two Of Him"



I want two of him.

I want the one who will continually make me proud as he grows and matures in front of me.  The one who will find his way in the world, and become an interesting, empathetic and accomplished adult. The one who will fulfill the immense potential for good that he has within him.  The one who will meet and fall in love with an amazing person that both understands him and embraces all that he is, without conditions.  The one who will blossom into a caring, patient father who remembers how important his own childhood was to him and how much he can mean to his own kids.  The one who will care passionately about things beyond his comfort zone and who won't be afraid to pursue them.

I want the one that is set to play.

I want another who will forever love me unconditionally. The one who won't judge me or work to find my faults. The one who will hug and kiss me without self-consciousness.  The one who will cherish being at my side just because I'm his father. The one who wants to explore the world with me, whether we're in the backyard or across the country. The one who continually reminds me what is truly vital in my own life.  The one who confides in me without fear of judgment or repercussion.  The one who makes me feel like I've accomplished something important and amazing no matter what I do with the other aspects of my life.

I also want the one that is set to pause.

While all pauses eventually yield to the future, each is waiting to become a brand new pause.

And I plan to embrace them all.
 
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: This Guy (Regress #5)

Calling all wispy, rat-faced pitchmen for couriers that parade fully grown men around in ballet dancer-snug brown sac chokers.

If that meets your description, and it most certainly does, take that simian shock of mangy Blind Melon hair and those sinister Ewokian eyes and gallop forthwith back to helming your local community college figure drawing class.

I'd sooner walk my package (please note: double entendre) across the Yucca Flats in size 5 tap shoes and crotchless lederhosen than watch your smug pucker-face for one more nanosecond.

I'll punch you.

Die, you devil-eyed, soulless monstrosity.  You genocidal, saw-fanged Dingo From Beyond.  Die.

Sweet, merciful Lord, I'd joyfully take a reanimated Billy Mays over this drooling man-jackel.  Make it so my sweet Prince of Peace.

Unless, of course, he has a bead on a gig for me. Then please forward him my carphone # so he can give me the specs.

Most urgently,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Advance #50: Search Terms For This Site Kick Ass



Although he fully expected to see "Dr. Crotchalicious", "How Big Is Too Big Ladies?", "Microphone Destroyer", "Tossed Salad", "Whose DNA Is That?" and "Celebrities I Yearn To Mount", Denny found some interesting search terms leading users of what I like to refer to as "The Information Superhighway" to this decidedly un-humble site.

Some examples:

Hermaphrodite Adult Videos
I Want To Be A Famous Writer
HAIRY OLD MEN SILVERFOX (all caps in original)
Man Bulges
Look At My Johnson
Takes Weiner Out
Segway Gang
Bucket List Fuck
Denny DelVecchio Sex God (Singlegirlie, I presume)

Internet Explorer,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, August 16, 2010

Special Guest Star #1: Such Tight Slacks

Denny has decided to step aside and hand over his sacred internet Magna Carta to wicked step-sister site, suchtightslacks.com.


Stop on by, say hello and tell the crazy motherfucker that Denny Dance sent you (Denny exits now and Ron-Yves enters).


Top 3 Reasons Why Our Staff Has Agreed To Sit Down At DENNY'S:

1.) Denny's blog (like ours) has roots in a 'New' state: Although Your New Bad Habit is currently operated out of a dank, communal basement somewhere in the desert southwest, the major groundwork for this site was laid in Denny's home state of New Jersey.  As some of you know, New Hampshire is the chosen location for SuchTightSlacks.com to produce our blasphemous bull-shit.  And our respective websites continue to be inspired by these brand spanking 'New' states.

For those of you living in an 'Old' state, which probably emits a constant aroma of peat-moss and aging testicles---you should know that there is a brotherhood and a code of honor amongst folks like Denny, myself and everyone else whose state still bares the price-tag and that new state smell...

2.) Hair Advice: It's clear to our staff that Denny possesses some of the nicest hair found his side of the Mason-Dixon line.  We're hoping that fortnightly contributions to his site will eventually prompt him to reveal some of his damn secrets.  If he chooses not to discuss these matters with us, that's fine too---it will have been an honor just to work with someone who displays such spellbinding locks...

3.) Vaginal Procurement: It's not our first time at the rodeo people---Over the years I've discovered that, in the ongoing effort to score with chicks, it simply behooves me to become associated with gentleman like Denny.  Side Note:  CNN recently reported that one text-message sent from Denny after midnight can induce orgasms in up to 5 different women at once...

The truth is, it's nearly impossible for Denny to handle his current workload of intersexualcourse with Kelly Kapowski look-a-likes.  Our staff is more than happy to clean up the overflow...

Cheers!
Ron-Yves Strouteau
suchtightslacks.com

DENNY'S: The only place where the waitresses do the 'tipping'.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Regress #44: A Very Special Spano



Do you remember where you were when this happened?

Ironically, I was plowing through a hefty jar of tasty barbiturates.

Dr. Feelgood,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, August 13, 2010

Time For You To Pick Denny's Ink

Although Denny Dance has got what some like to refer to as "it going on," he still plans to ink it up this weekend courtesy of my boss "Easy" Ed Verhowski's by-the-hour mistress, Destinee, who was recently bequeathed a probationary online certification from the acclaimed Squaw of the Sun Dermis and Genital Modification Institute of Antigua.

Rather than gluttonously imposing my will on such a lofty, cumbrous decision, I'm going to allow my glorious hoard of DelVecchians to make the call for me.

So put down the bottle of Malibu, turn off the dwarf smut, and gather around your Dark Lord of Flesh, Denny, in what will certainly be the most important thing you have done thus far in your adult life.

Tattoolicious,
Denny DelVecchio









Here are the candidates:

An Obious Choice


Has It All

Instant Street Cred


Also Instant Street Cred





Chicks Will Dig




Because I'm A Lyrical Poet







And Rod Roddy On the Left


Thursday, August 12, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Precious (Advance #18)

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, August 11, 2010

Flattery Will Get You Into Denny's Pants

Like all XYs on the Planet Earth, Denny Dance is a gelatinous, slobbering yes-machine toward those who pay me the proper respect.

So when these kind souls featured me in today's version of their web-based news magazine, I really had no choice but to pay them heed.

Give the site a look, DelVecchians.  Money back guarantee.

Promotionally,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Advance #49: Somebody Got A Compliment Today



Picture this:

Your boy Denny Dance is strutting down the avenue after his bi-weekly Honduran prostate massage when a curvy, doe-eyed minx darts out of the shadows and stands before me, catapulting a look of raw animal passion my way.

As it turned out, I had made her acquaintance on JDate.com a few weeks back, but had apparently failed keep our rendezvous after getting a free nod to see a tight little Frampton cover band out of Tempe.

That obviously didn't quell the carnal urges within the ballsy lass, because she proceeded to hurdle right to the foreplay (kneed me passionately in my Dennyparts) and, mirroring my ad ("Jump To The Head Of The Ticket Line To See Your Very Own Christian Bale"), agreed that I looked "just like a fucking ugly Christian Bale."

I know.  Hot.

Remind me to drop her a page this weekend so we can take our purely physical relationship to the next level.

Matinee Idol,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, August 9, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Whatever The Living Shit This Is (Advance #15)



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.

Kinetic,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Regress #43: Reunions Suck

Marie Aldretti-Foster is a shameless, besotted skank.

Repelled,
Denny DelVecchio

Friday, August 6, 2010

Denny's Class Reunion Weekend



I'm busy here in Camden sexing my entire graduating class this weekend, but I will endeavor to check in a bit when I can.

Photos, videos and sordid tales of lust to follow.

Denny's #1 target of carnality?

Mrs. Bomback, 11th grade English.

Reunified,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Take The Wheel, Delilah

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

My name is Delilah, and Holy Mary mother of all that is sacred, I don't think I can do this anymore.

Yes, I understand that I make enough green cheese at my gig to build your sickly mother that guest suite on the back of your house that she so badly needs. But it's not enough anymore.  Not even close. And it's all your fault.

If you could feel the white-hot bile rising in my trachea each time you lay your selfish, vapid excuse for a life at my silken feet, surely you'd understand.

You tell me that your Cocker Spaniel got run over.  I slap in My Heart Will Go On, as I laugh wickedly at your misfortune into my engineer's earpiece. I just hope that the smelly little piece of pound-trash suffered.  Just like I do here. Each night.  Because of you.  Fucker.

Oh, poor, sweet Danielle. What? You went back to your husband after he bumped uglies for the forty-sixth time with your gruesomely hairlipped sister Melinda?  You know what? I'm glad. In fact, the non-Reptilian side of me is quivering with glee. Because it got him away from your dry chicken, exposed roots and glacier-cold, methodical lovemaking. Godspeed, Garrett!  And if you want to step out with a classy temptress of the dark airwaves, drop my producer Elliot a text and he'll make sure I'm there to sex you right.

What? I'm a bitch? No, 2.4 million American women in the 35-49 demographic that make my very existence a tortuous Hades on Earth, you're the bitch. And I'll cut each of your hearts out with my festering indifference. That's right. You heard Delilah.

Oh, hold on, let me take a call from Molly in Alabama, who really wants to get back into contact with the baby she gave up as an 18 year old Lot Lizard. News flash, Mols, your baby's gone now and never wants to see you again, you know--being a well-adjusted college biology major at Clemson with Pantene hair,  a gorgeous boyfriend and the kind of self-confidence that you only see in PG-13 movies.

But here's a cliche-ridden, tear duct draining pile of shit from Richard Marx that should validate all of the pent up sadness that you're dragging around each day, Molly. You're welcome.

Oh dear, sweet Lord, if you're out there please make me a downsizing casualty. Or a soon to be dead member of a doomsday cult. Or the amnesiac victim of a car accident--I'd remember my life as night shift produce-jockey at Kroger's and I would never be happier. In fact, I'd embrace anything that whisks me away from this hellish life.  Please.  I'll do anything.  Anything.

Hold on a sec.

Hello, it's Delilah. What's on your mind tonight?

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Advance #48: Denny's First Celebrity Endorsement


Although it was really only a matter of time, Denny Dance has secured his very first product endorsement.

And, naturally, I'm engorged with mirth.

After puckishly turning asunder several attempts to cast me as a glitzy pitchman for products like The Morning After Pill, the Quentin Tarantino Gluten Free Cookbook, Baby Bumpits and three different female depilitory cremes, I was still yearning for the right thing to cross my desk.

And when I was offered the chance of a lifetime while engaged in a Category 5 sexting orgy with a prominent stockholder of an up and coming man-girdle company, who was I to say no?

Toned,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, August 2, 2010

Want To Be A Famous Writer?


Denny is finding it increasingly difficult to both post everyday and sex the Greater Phoenix Metroplex, so he's planning to occasionally open the floor to guest blogging professionals of note.

If it's good enough for Hip Hop, it's good enough for me. Yes, I want you to be Drake to my Lil Wayne. 

I can't guarantee that it will save a puppy, but I know that you will put a sweet smile on anywhere from 300-500 faces a day. (Unless you're a shitty writer.)

The hours? Flexible. The pay? Hugs

In? Drop Denny a line at dennydelvecchio@gmail.com or post a message for me, below.

The Editor,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Regress #42: Urkel

Yes, you DID do that, motherfucker.

Losing Patience,
Denny DelVecchio