From The Bag Of Tricks: 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 

 

Advance #47: Proactiv Changed Denny's Life!

I realize that you're likely here for a brief respite from the travails for your somber, sexless workday, but Denny wants to talk to you about a very serious subject.

We've all had to deal with it to some degree, but I once had it SO BAD that it was affecting my social life, my love life, and my overall self worth.

There were times when I would hide my face from the world, quietly crying myself to sleep and wondering when--or if--things would ever change.

Then a friend turned me on to a product called Proactiv, and with one use Denny's teetering self-confidence began to soar.

Soon there was no more feeling alone. No more hiding. No more shame.

Just like other erstwhile hag-monsters like Katy Perry, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jessica Simpson and Avril Lavigne I was, for the first time in my young life, a beautiful swan, spreading my wings and flying free on the moist, warm and slippery hands of Proactiv.

Some people, I'm told, even use it for acne.

Slip Sliding To A Better You,
Denny DelVecchio

Regress #41: Writer's Block

Denny sat down to write today and no words came to him.

No devilishly witty anecdotes.

No sly cultural observations.

No bawdy tales of conquest. 

And no heartfelt advice for the marginally-appealing.

I've got nothing.  And I feel nothing on the horizon.

Has the once virile DelVecchian light gone dim?

Any tips, advice or wisdom appreciated.

Flickering,
Denny DelVecchio

Regress #40: Psychedelic Drugs

My customarily biting and visionary insights regarding this heartrending slab of excreta would simply be superfluous.

You're a big boy/girl/hermaphrodite now, so you're fully prepared to form your own independent opinion about how totally and unabashedly fucking awful it is.

Slackened,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: Own A Pony (Denny's Bucket List #1)

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

Advance #46: Thank You For The FINAL NOTIFICATION, Mr. Okon

I'm on my way out for the evening, but I'd be remiss if I didn't properly thank a gentleman by the name of Mr. Adebayo Okon, the deposed former Deputy Secretary for Commerce in Nigeria, for giving me a FINAL NOTIFICATION of his willingness to allow me to serve as an intermediary for the about-to-be-seized funds ($26,800,000!!!) that he and his band of freedom fighters are trying so desperately to find a temporary caretaker for.

I'd imagine that most busy public luminaries in his position would stop short of sending such a FINAL NOTIFICATION to someone they were entrusting with so solemn and time-sensitive a task.

But apparently Mr. Okon and his President have seen something in Denny that makes them willing to risk everything by sending a FINAL NOTIFICATION rather than simply moving on to another agent.

I don't know if Mr. Okon is a regular reader of this news magazine, but I presume that he did a fair amount of homework before settling on me as such a trustee.

His liberal use of all caps and boldface in his FINAL NOTIFICATION simply underscored the importance of every word in the detailed six paragraph missive, and made me check myself when briefly curious about why, if he was sending the funds, he needed me to also forward a $5,000 security deposit of my own money to a bank in the Cayman Islands.

I'm sure he knows what he's doing, however, so I'm going help him. As a firm believer in African democracy, how could I not?

Finally Notified,
Denny DelVecchio

Navrátit: Jersey Shore

Dívky a chlapci, máme situaci.

Co dělá jeden hovor něco, co tak přesahuje všechno, co doucherelli, že i váš věrný - každého z nás oblíbený zubatými spisovatel - se stává téměř němá?  

Jsou olejové ohavnost ? zločin Paisanic proti přírodě? Začátek konce Jersey Chic? Jeden z těchto Godless Hellspawn?

Domnívám se, že jsou to všichni a nikdo z nich. Jsou všude a nikde. Jsou narozená člověka, ale ne z této oblasti. Mají stejný vnější carapace jako vy a já, ale postrádají něco blížící se lidské duše. Jsou druhé ztělesnění psa Brothers . zahájení '. zahájení'.

Podívejte se, já jsem původně kluk Jersey sám (vykřiknout do Cam-Den), a kdybych někdy narazit Chachi, jako to na mytí auta, kde pracují, budu přemístit, dokud Říkají mi Horatio Dandypants s pokleslý, apoplektický jellyface.  A pak jsem si pevně, ale s láskou proměnit výuku moment, ale zároveň zajistit, že nenechávejte pruhy této době, kdy je suché Bello Mona. Moje první láska vždycky si zaslouží dobré handcloth povrch.

Teď musím běžet. Musím jít dívat dobrou show asi zbytečný mládeže .

Upřímně Váš,
Denny DelVecchio

Take The Wheel, Jason Motte: "What About Me, Alyssa Milano?"

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

Hello, America. St. Louis Cardinals middle reliever Jason Motte here.

"Jason Who?" you might be asking.

That's quite alright. I'm used to it by now.

I suppose average Americans not wedded to Sabermetrics may not be following me all that closely--especially the average Americans who are hot, willing T.V. stars with supple, Alpine breasts, a well-toned flank and a smile that could light up Busch Stadium in January.

Don't get me wrong, I score my share of road tail simply by virtue of the fact that I'm usually within shouting distance of Albert Pujols in the hotel bar. Ladies love Albert. I'm sort of like his roadie. And that's okay. I get my share, even if 41 Ks in 39.2 innings and a 1.11 WHIP from a 7th inning guy don't act as a floor magnet for womens' panties (if the panties were magnetized, I guess).

But the truth is, there's only one lady that Jason Motte's eyes are on right now.

What's a brother need to do to land Alyssa Milano?  Especially given her stellar track record with baseball peen.

I may not be a square-jawed Adonis, Kong-wanged All-Star curveballer, or lofty-cheekboned backstop, but I can get left handed batters out like nobody's business, grill a perfect beef tenderloin and effortlessly release the secret carnality of any adult woman on the planet earth.

I'm not asking for a month-long commitment or anything old-fashioned like that. I'm not begging her to actually use the tickets and complimentary in-game massage I've been leaving for her at will call for every road Dodgers, Angels, Giants, Padres and A's series since 2007. And I won't implore her to respond to the roughly 2,500 texts I've sent her since spring training.

She is, quite simply, the anti-slumpbuster.

And I just want her to give a boy a chance. Perhaps a pleasant early dinner at The Ivy followed by a romantic stroll around Beverly Hills capped with a Tantric lovemaking session in her pool cabana after letting her beat me in Scrabble. J-Motts would sex her so right.

A boy can dream, can't he?

Signed,
Jason

Why This Obscure Animal/Music Fusion?

Because Denny Dance says so, that's why. (And also because you won't pry this inspirational ditty out of your head until a hot and dusty fortnight has passed.)

VJ in the House,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #45: A Codpiece It Is

 

Denny has never particularly considered himself a dandy.

He's passionately eschewed the moniker "Admiral Fancypants."

It has not been his custom to overshadow other men with haughty fashionable adornments.

And nobody has suggested that he's a blindingly stylish Bon Vivant.

But he had to make a difficult fashion choice for tonight's carnal pursuits--and the call has been made.

There's no wrong time for a tasteful chainmaille codpiece, friends.

And that no wrong time just became right now.

Confidently,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: Good Night, Sweet Corey Feldman (from March 11, 2010)

A little piece of America just died.  And I don't feel okay about it.

First it was your father Marty. And now you?  

I drank my first Lowenbrau to The Goonies.

I touched my debutante breast after tossing this verbal bouquet.

I chopped up Jason Voorhees into hundreds of little masked psychopaths with you at Camp Crystal Lake. And awkwardly worshipped Lark Voorheis from afar-just like you did.

And I played the dope show alongside you for the better part of my wan, benumbed twenties. 

And now you're sailing your gilded yacht up somewhere in the Great Beyond, gazing down upon mankind with a ready twinkle in your eye and smile on your beautiful face--knowing we'll all one day leave our earthly vessels and fly up there to dance with you yet again.

Humbled,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #44: Denny's Favorite Historical Quotations

As you may have surmised, Denny Dance is a true student of history, and realizes that we can often learn a great deal from the wise words of cultural luminaries.

To that end, I'd like to share my four favorite maxims (at least the ones that don't get to dance the night away with F List celebs).

Use them as you see fit. Perhaps they will start you down the road to true DelVecchianism:

"Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it."
- Robert Frost

"There are risks and costs to a program of action. But they are far less than the long-range risks and costs of comfortable inaction."
- John F. Kennedy

"In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"I'll cradle the balls, stroke the shaft, work the pipe and swallow the gravy."
-Jeff Portnoy

Culturally Enlightened,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: Ke$ha (Regress #16)

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.

Indignant,
Denny DelVecchio

Oh Fuck, Denny's Back In Jail

Details forthcoming....

UPDATE: Nevermind. Big misunderstanding, y'all.

I was actually locked in the backroom of a Phoenix-area massage parlor the entire time. I reasonably, but incorrectly, assumed the worst.

Thanks for the cards, flowers and panties. I'm going to keep them anyway.

Luckiest Guy In Town,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: Male Bonding (Advance #6)

To your left is exactly where one ends up when an untimely flat tire, four cases of low grade fermented liquids, a bootleg Barenaked Ladies disc (live in Montreal, BTW), a Friday booty-night romp canceled at the 11th hour and an ungodly alliance of severely compromised metabolic systems are fused together to create an unusual, but surprisingly pleasant, weekend evening.

Sometimes my sacred nights that I have offered up to the Gods of Flesh don't yield a supple, willing mistress for me. But that doesn't mean that I can't still have a go of things. Did you know, for example, that Cher was the original Auto-Tune Pimp?  (What What, Mr. Pain?)  After a sweaty and unchaperoned dabble in the Karaoke Arts, I certainly did.

Much love to Tiny J, M.C. Bubbles and Eugene "Tank" Tankarowski for a memorable night, and most curious sauna experience that I won't soon forget. (The water tasted exactly like week-old minestrone and barley soup.)

Until later,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #43: I Can Be Your Hero, Baby

Homeboy didn't show up last night.

As we all suspected, Melvin Gibson is the Coward of the County.

And now the whole of America wants a piece of Denny--in a good way.


Final Score:
Denny  1 Trillion
Gibson  0

Totally Doing It For The USA,
Denny DelVecchio

An Open Challenge To Mel Gibson

Well hello there, you boozy fuck of a man.

I see you're taking a brief and well-deserved respite from wolfishly assaulting loved ones/going on racist hate-benders/berating world religions not your own.

There are only so many hours in the day to be a detestable cockatrice.

Well then, let me get right to the point, Bitchboy.

Denny can't help but notice how badly you need to get your besotted ass beaten down.  And he'd very much like to be the one to undertake said beat down.

So I'm going to be in front of Phoenix's own Seamus McCaffrey's Pub tomorrow night at 9:00 pm, waiting to rock your face seven ways to Sunday with my Kung Fu Grip.  

It seems that your choices are simple:

1. Show up and have Denny de-man you in full view of a mob of vengeful Phoenicians who saw Air America.
2. "Mel Gibson" out as everyone reading this treatise already knows you will.

The choice is yours, Baldielocks.

Pumped Up For Virtue,
Denny DelVecchio

Regress #38: World Cuppers To Play Final With Children Attached To Hands

In a misguided attempt to add to the tension and strategic heft of today's World Cup final between Spain and The Netherlands, FIFA President Sepp Blatter is apparently requiring all players to drag a small child around with them as they navigate the field in search of soccer immortality.

Ratings whores.

Disgusted,
Denny DelVecchio

Give The Newest DelVecchio-Approved Reads Some Love, People

Watch The Rentals - Friends Of P in Music  |  View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

Look to the right of the Rentals video. Then down.

No, not down there you saucy thing.  I'm talking about your screen.

Do you see that sacred list of websites that utilize words, ideas, videos and photographs?  Good.  

I want to give a special welcome to the newest five, all of which will, in varying degrees, make your frustratingly staid life a little more dangerous and sexy.

Or, in other words, make it more like Denny's own:

Blunt Delivery: Witty, playfully sardonic fare from a comely woman who is almost certainly smarter than you and everybody you know--possibly combined.

Karaoke Activity Partner: Supplies the world with a lovable pop-culture stew several times a week. And now 100% drug free.

Love In The Dumps: This is Denny's new best bro, helmed by a charming New Yorker known only as "The Sexecutioner."  Denny drops his fantastic shit on this site from time to time, so loving it is like loving me.

Single Girl Blogging: What can I say? This ballsy lass has got it going on in a major way, seamlessly weaving her loves, dreams and intestinal gas into an unabashedly desirable melange.  

Such Tight Slacks: The name may have alone been enough to get it on here, but this guy is clever and irreverent in spades. You'll want him to give a speech at your wedding.

Also, don't forget my past stable, including perhaps the funniest woman I have ever known, and the delightful spiced one.

Promotionally Yours,
Denny DelVecchio

Your New Bad Habit: Still 100% Ad Free**. Still 100% Rocking That Body

Denny Dance says "You're welcome, world!"

Party in the USA,

Denny DelVecchio

 ** The fact that I'll shamelessly offer up my anti-advertising virginity to the first oily huckster that waives 75 cents at me is immaterial.

Advance #42: Ghost Dad

When you're one of the top 15-20 family oriented ghost-themed movies starring Bill Cosby of the mid to late 1980s, what's not to fall in love with?

Thank you for your merciful gift, William Jefferson Cosby.

Thank you.

Still Laughing,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #41: NBA Super-Journeyman Stays With Current Team

After tepid speculation and almost non-existent innuendo, bulky NBA uber-sub Brendan Haywood has decided to forgo the clean air, Polish sausage and beautiful lakes of the Greater Milwaukee Metro Area in order to follow his heart and stick with his surprisingly tolerant current team, the Dallas Mavericks.

"I was getting courted pretty hot and heavy by Andrew Bogut and Johnny Salmons up in Milwaukee, but in the end I decided to stay with the team--and the city---that I have loved for the better part of five months.

Said Bogut from his houseboat in Sydney, Australia: "Really? I thought Haywood was playing over in Turkey.  Good for him."

A humbled Haywood couldn't hide his delight.

"My roots run deep here in Dallas now, although it's not like I grew up here or anything. Oh, and the strip clubs are surprisingly competitive with bigger NBA markets."

Haywood signed for a league veteran minimum, and should get huge minutes off the Mavs' bench in 2010-11, especially if fellow C Erick Dampier retires as every man, woman and child in Dallas not related to him so wish he'd do forthwith.

Faith in Mankind Redeemed,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: A Belated Happy Birthday To Steve Perry's Bulge (Advance #21)

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

Regress #37: Hey Asshole, Why Didn't You Play My Request?

Let me get back to Friday night.

After my second shower of the week, followed by an Aqua Velva baptism, I squeezed Señor Manaconda into my favorite pair of black, snug-front Bugle Boys and embarked upon a sacred quest:

A mission to ensnare a pair of morally fallacious half-sisters from Scottsdale who would love me more for my checkbook than my heartbook?

A plan to awkwardly enfleshen a prim, virginal booksmith from stacks of the Greater Phoenix Metro Library System's Chandler branch?

Perhaps even a confused attempt to win back the erstwhile love of my life using a brazen scheme to harvest a kidney from a panhandler in order to save a young boy in Bulgaria?

If you answered anything but None of the Above you failed.

Because my simple quest was to have DJ Ricky Rise at Club Levitation play a certain slow jam especially for a special young lady who had caught my fancy through her entrancing, sirenic manner--one that sent so much wayward blood to my party regions even BP tipped its oily hat.

Denny simply wanted her to know how he felt.  And now our love-starved world may never realize what could have been.

Have you ever been in love, Mr. D.J. Rise?

Denny thought not.

Achingly,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #40: The Music Muff

I would have gone all in on this even if I had simply heard its majestic name.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to lace up my testosterone-drenched roller skates, slink into a snug nylon banana hammock, and pull on an aquamarine mesh headband.

Estrogen-blessed park dwellers beware: Denny Dance is on the loose.

In Heat,
Denny DelVecchio

Spoiler Alert #7: The American Revolution

The Stamp Act of 1765.

The Boston Massacre of 1770.

The Tea Act of 1773.

The Intolerable Acts of 1774.

A lot of really bad shit was going down back in the day and, although there was no Denny DelVecchio around to single-handedly rally a weary and increasingly oppressed conglomeration of colonies into action with both sex appeal and swagger to burn, armed conflict and shouts of Freedom, Motherfuckers permeated the thick New England air.

And, several war-weary years later, just when things looked the bleakest, one or more of the homeboys on our money kicked their shit into overdrive and rallied for a series of stunning military conquests which paved the way for an incendiary victory party featuring Cher and a large phallic battleship--on, yes, the 4th of July.

Denny hates to give away the ending, but it was the Americans who were on that Bacchanalian pleasure cruise.

Happy Independence Day, American DelVecchians! (Your New Bad Habit also hopes that all of our friends in Europe, South America, Africa, Australia and Asia have kick ass 4th of July celebrations of their own today.)

Engorged With Patriotism,
Denny DelVecchio

Advance #39: The Most Magical Song In The Fucking Universe

Was there ever a time in your life when you saw a gleaming fork in the road shimmering regally before you--one that you knew in your heart would forever alter your future and, perhaps, the future of many others as well?

Denny had such a moment 7 minutes ago when my tender ears had the divine privilege of letting this beautiful nugget of sonic perfection ravish my senses and inspire my loins.

What was looking to be an evening of trolling Craigslist Casual Encounters in the hopes of securing a meaningless genital merger with a 51 year old, thrice-divorced meth princess with wooden teeth became, with one listen, an ethereal sexpedition-to-be into all of the verboten caves of earthly pleasure that downtown Phoenix's starry evening can possibly hurl at me.

God bless you and your emergency room-pumped stomach, Rodney.

Getting My Freak On,
Denny DelVecchio

From The Bag Of Tricks: The Very First Advance

If you were alive in 1993, then you were around to witness one of the most important, poignant artistic transformations in music history--one Stanley Kirk Burrell morphing from a fast-tapping, double jointed rubberman with scant artistic integrity to a smoldering sex-loaf who smuggled small Peruvian villages in his speedo, while making our collective knees buckle.  Proper.

Oddly enough, this character never made an appearance on Hammerman.  But he did get top billing in America's hearts--and never left.  That's what happens when you're rocking more meat than Hillshire Farms.

(Ladies, please just remember that this man is a bit deformed.  All men aren't like me and Hammer.)

Catch you on the other side,
Denny DelVecchio