Thursday, September 30, 2010

Take The Wheel, Karaoke Activity Partner

Eds. Note: This is the 10th installment of our ongoing series of guest appearances by cultural heavyweights. 

This just happens to be one Denny would very much like to have sex with right now. Denny commands you to visit the nimble minx's site forthwith.

The first time I made love to a real man happened in a bathroom, in a night club, in New Jersey in 1988.  I still feel the fever from that night of knockin' da boots, riding the wild stallion, "picking the lice off my primate lover" - all while trying not to let my panties fall onto the urine soaked floor.

There I was in Camden, New Jersey, dressed up in my leopard print bustier, hot pink stretch pants, crotchless purple lace panties, sequins, headband twisted inside my perm, and 4" aqua Candies pumps.  I was feeling sexy, glamorous, and horny.  I was snorting pharmaceutical grade cocaine up my left nostril, and pure cane sugar up my right. I was sipping a Zima and pushing my chest out so the whole room could see my double D's.

Just then, one of my favorite songs came over the boom box, and it was then my eyes fell upon this sexy stallion from across the room, and I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"Damn," I thought as I slowly was pulled towards him by the magnetic force otherwise known as Denny's Titanic Sized Love Stick (or it could have been the mustache), "everyone is gonna see my dampness for this man.  Why did I wear the crotchless ones this evening?"

There were no words, just moves, as we started to grind together to an electrifying beat. Then, this hot hunk whispered in my ear, softly... "Hey Athena, you mind if I call you that, you look like a goddess to me.  I am Denny DelVecchio.  Let's go see if I can get you pregnant while you're bent over the urinal."  All I could do was groan in ecstasy knowing that I was his chosen one for that quarter hour and I would now be able to list "dipping my toes into the pool called DelVecchio" on my list of greatest achievements.

There were no words, just screams and random animal like noises that eventually had caught the attention of the security staff.  When they banged on the door, my Denny did the right thing... he accepted $20 each in cold, hard cash in order for them to watch the greatest show on Earth.  When it was all done, Denny had pocketed $140 dollars and I asked him to buy me a drink, to which he promptly told me, "No 'ho, go buy your own damn drink."

I'll never forget that man, the sex, or the son we conceived that night that now lives with his Native American grandma in Colorado.


Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Regress #49: Ryan Murphy, I Wish You Were Never Born

How could you so callously rob mankind of Glee's soulful Chocolate Tornado?

Are you too love-stoned on the bevy of hefty-breasted doxies that you surely engorge yourself on each day to see the man behind the dance?

Retribution is nigh.  Denny-style.

Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Regress #48: No Chance Of Succeeding


I just stumbled across this distended eyesore and his gruesome music video, and have two immediate reactions:

1. Why am I watching this when I could be lustily cyber-gazing upon an ample-bosomed Paphian servicing an entire bachelor party in the back room of a bedraggled Rotterdam discotheque?

2. This video will never gain any sort of popularity.  In fact, Denny suspects that he's one of perhaps a dozen or so unfortunate souls who have singed their eyes to it.  If all of you watch, the number could be upped to two dozen.

Denny DelVecchio

Friday, September 24, 2010

Advance #57: Denny's Finally Getting A "Cellular" Telephone

Denny fought the good fight as long as he could, but apparently my Fem-rotic Armies are demanding that I be more accessible than what a beeper, pay phone and car phone have rendered me.

So I am now a proud "Cellular" telephone owner.

A certain hirsute Smooth Operator is standing by.

Reach Out And Touch Me,
Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, September 23, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Spoiler Alert #3 (The Empire Strikes Back)

Despite the fact that they look nothing alike and had different last names, I was amazed to discover, as a grimy 11 year old huffer nestled in the back row of Camden Westpointe Mall Theater #7, that Darth Benjamin Eric Vader had sired our very own Luke (middle name unknown) Skywalker.

I later learned, as an irresistible 33 year old grifter, that the younger Jedi had sprung from Natalie Portman's fertile uterus (screen shot of birth scene here) after she had been lovingly pollinated by a youthful, chiseled James Earl Jones. You think the Terminator time-space continuum issues were troubling? This was a true Jedi Mindfuck!

Either way, I wept like a professional athlete at this emotionally penetrating moment in film history. And surely you will, too.

Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, September 21, 2010



To confirm recent internet rumors, cocksure superblog Your New Bad Habit has secured the services of suspended Pro-Bowl Wide Receiver Vincent Jackson from the San Diego Chargers for cash considerations and prominent West Coast hellcat Single Girlie's I-Phone number, beating out the Minnesota Vikings and St. Louis Rams just hours before Jackson's suspension was set to jump three additional games. 

Said YNBH CEO Denny DelVecchio: "Brett Favre is the crusty, detestable bastard love baby of Yoda and Rachel Berry. That is all."

Jackson is expected to play Wingman for DelVecchio, although he could occasionally run the Wildcat.


Monday, September 20, 2010

Take The Wheel, Pacey Witter

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

Oh, well, well well, what have we here? 

It looks like Dawson Leery--the oldest American teenager since Ralph Macchio's 37 year old twig-dick was waxing Dame Elizabeth Shue on and off back in 1984. 

And Pacey has one thing to say to you:

Get your manicured hands, gingivitis hairline, Suvari-esque forehead and "ahh shucks Mr. Potter, I'd never ask for a sloppy handjob from your only daughter in the passenger seat of a '94 Honda Civic after studying late for our AP European History class" away from the girl.  

And step your bitch ass to Pacey Witter. Because it's time for your $5 Footlong of pain, friend.

It's just not enough for you to be the smartest, most sensitive human without a vagina (allegedly) in Capeside. You apparently also feel the need to biblically recline with the only non-blonde I've ever loved. And by love, I mean shamelessly masturbated to while listening to side two of ELO's Eldorado, A Symphony with my booze-wrecked cop father and four sibs watching Ally McBeal in the next room. 

Now that's love.

And that's what you're messing with, homeboy.

I'll cut you.

Oh, wait, I get to take the sensitive blonde chipmunk instead? Well thanks a fucking million, partner. That's like offering me a goddamn Necco while you suck down a bag of Skittles Crazy Cores right in front of me.

You and Joey are Soulmates?  Please. That $2 sperm sponge will mount the first multimillionaire, bat-shit crazy Scientologist movie star that holds a door for her.  Mark Pacey's word. 

This is really all about Miss Jacobs robbing my fragile flower Freshman year, right? 

Well you know what, you can have her. Just send me over my true heart. My one and only. My Joey "Holy Dick Don't Confuse Me With Monica, Harry or Colonel " Potter.

And then I can get you a three episode turn on Fringe and/or Diane Kruger.

Ball's in your court, Dawson. 

And I don't want to wait. 


Friday, September 17, 2010

Advance #56: My Favorite Vampire

If Denny Dance were a vampire, he's pretty sure that he'd be this one.

What vampire would you be, DelVecchian Nation?

Already Taken: Blacula (Matt Brand)

Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, September 16, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Gaga (Regress #8)

Stop it.  Just. Stop. It.

I won't call her Lady since a fair-of-face young gent such as myself might rightfully surmise that her dirty places have seen more pounding than a trans-continental railroad project manned by meth junkies.

But, seriously, she's trying to combine Red Lobster facewear with Fifth Element-chic, topping it off with a ghoulish Romanian Death Mask--and that was just for a late night carb-gallop to Shoney's.

Gaga me with a spoon!

I'm sure having two fully functioning sets of genitalia must be as mesmerizing as a Kardashian at a womens dogsledding convention, but it can't be a free pass for everything from freebasing caviar to wearing a diamelle-encrusted leather codpiece to a Today Show interview. 

So, kind Sir/Mistress, please, for Denny, go back to your wayward hipster days, where the greatest offenses you committed involved breaking 129 pound club-boys' hearts.

If you look closely at the photo to the northwest, you can see a winsome tear forming above her left fore-antennae. That says it all.

Ex post facto,
Denny DelVecchio


Whether your idea of manic rhythmic delight involves dance hall, techno, hip hop, Afro-Cuban funk, pre-group fisting industrial, clogging, Dirty South or good old fashioned jump, jive and wailing, you'll want to strap on your favorite pair of dancing shoes, grab your best girl (or boy!), and shimmy on over to Denny's Dancing Delights--the Internet's newest destination for everything related to Satan's Palsy aka Getting One's Funk On aka THE DANCE!!!

Each week, Denny's Dancing Delights will feature a different genre of dance, and we'll have monthly video contests for the C-C-C-CRAZIEST dance in the world.  Submitted by none other than YOU.

Who wants to be famous?

YOU do!

This week's dance is The Boot Scoot, famous from Texas to Toldeo.  From Maine to Modesto. From your eyes to my dancing shoes.

So limber up, drink your Red Bull, and join me here every Thursday and Monday for a celebration of LIFE better known as DENNY'S DANCING DELIGHTS!!!

Your Dance Partner,
Denny Dance

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Welcome Home to "Ye Comfy Kitchen"

Wait...what's that smell?

Mmmm, that's's a delicious, homemade apple pie baking in your very own oven. And it will be ready to serve up, hot and fresh, to your family tonight, courtesy of Ye Comfy Kitchen--the web's newest and best destination for good cooking, good friends and good times.

So let your hair down, put your apron on, and get ready to whip up some fantastic, fresh, easy and nutritious culinary delights for your family's enjoyment.

Spend a few minutes with us a day and we promise to make you the home cooking guru that you always knew you could be, whether it's a steaming hot pie, delicious country chicken, savory mashed potatoes, or appetizers to put a smile on your loved ones' faces!

The Editor and Chef-in-Residence hopes that you'll return soon!

Oh, and here's Chef DelVecchio's "secret" recipe for his world-famous "Fall Harvest Apple Pie."


Pastry for a 10 inch two Crust Pie
1 cup Sugar
1/4 cup Flour
2 tablespoons of your Favorite Ejaculate
3/4 teaspoon Ground Cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon Ground Nutmeg
dash of Salt
8 cups thinly sliced pared Tart Cooking Apples
4 tablespoons Whipping Cream

1. Prepare pie crusts.
2. Heat oven to 425 F.
3. Add sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt in large bowl. Stir in apples.
4. Place bottom pie dough into deep-dish pie plate. Spoon filling into pie shell.
5. Drizzle with 3 tablespoons whipping cream.
6. Cover with top crust. Trim, seal and flute edges. Cut slits into crust to allow steam to escape.
7. Brush top crust with remaining whipping cream.
8. Bake 40-45 minutes or until crust is brown and juice begins to bubble and ENJOY!!

Love in Food,
Dennis W. DelVecchio
Editor and Chef-in-Residence

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Advance #55: Daniel Craig

Denny's secure enough to have this mouthwatering, seam-bursting fountain of masculine spermwater and his unbridled virility featured on this sacred page.

How about you?

Normal Heart Rate,
Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, September 11, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: This Is Going To Be A Hit

A old friend from the Dirty South just forwarded this new jam to me, and I strongly suspect that it's going to blow up bigtime once word gets out.

Denny Dance implores you to call or fax your local D.J. to let them know about it.

Denny DelVecchio

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Shhhh...Denny's Being Interviewed Tonight

Although traditional heavy hitters like GQ, Details and Bloodhorse Magazine have all recently come a-knocking on Denny's Triple-Wide, I have decided to grant my first official interview to my favorite dating-woe pimp, Love in the Dumps.

Although lofty-cheekboned Himbo Matt Brand floated the idea of a Hip Hop-themed nude pictorial, my better, more modest angels commanded me to take a subdued, Wallacian approach.

Be sure to check out LITD this Saturday for the sweet, sultry carnage.

Yours In Love,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Advance #54: Search Terms For This Site Still Kick Rump

Last month, I took my servile DelVecchians (better known as you) with me on a desperate voyage through the dark recesses of the innterwobs.

Well, I'm pumping that sweet, moaning wellspring yet again, as I've noticed the searches have grown more urgent, more craven, more scatological, more anatomical.

More Denny.

Here are some from the last few weeks:

-Hairy Mens Underwears
-Orgasm Contractions
-Soiled Granny Panties
-Gaping Greasy Bumholes
-Train Lead Singer Camel Toe
-Real Childbirth Videos
-His Bad Fisting Habits
-Princess Leia Handjob
-Facesitting Bad Habit
-Rod Stewart Spermwich Tube London
-Delvecchio Huge Penis

My mother would be so proud--rest her very much alive soul.

Hairy Underwears,
Denny DelVecchio

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Have You Seen My Beeper?

It could have been the half-dozen or so double-blackberry mojitos I steadied myself with while dancing the night away at a club I have lovingly dubbed Ass By 11:00.

Or the fact that I gorged on a heavenly trifecta of double-battered swordfish, Georgia prawns and Absinthe.

Or perhaps it was even because I got lost in the angel eyes of a no-nonsense substitute teacher/Jazzercise! instructor from Glendale with grind-appeal rivaling only the 50 year old Lisa Rinna we fell in love with in the late 90s.

But all Denny Dance knows right now is that he's down one topaz Model D-23 Unication pager, and the lights of the Greater Phoenix Metroplex's social scene have gone dark right along with it.

Please bring Bonita home,
Denny DelVecchio

Monday, September 6, 2010


Because Denny says so, that's why.

Fully In Control,
Denny DelVecchio

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Happy Labor Day From Denny Dance

Niche Smut
Denny wants to take this opportunity to wish his loyal DelVecchians a most joyous Labor Day irrespective of whether or not you or someone you love will be expelling a miniature human out of your/their vagina.

Not Pregnant,
Denny DelVecchio

Saturday, September 4, 2010

From The Bag Of Tricks: Take the Wheel, Biggs Darklighter

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

"He had that smirk, the one he'd give you when he'd done something you couldn't."―Gavin Darklighter

Daddy died six hours later.  But he did so knowing that his eldest son, Yours Truly, had been one of the top 30 or 40 rebel starfighters who had no choice but to bravely fought the Empire in the Battle of Yavin. And the old man was right--I did have "that smirk." At least until my X-Wing was engulfed by ion cannon hellfire above Death Star Infusion Dock 213 A-21. More than a few Stormtroopers celebrated (for a couple carefree moments). Who's laughing now?

Anyway, my quest toward the grail of becoming a credited rebel fighter on IMDB started when I was on the business end of a Category 5 tugjob from Leia Organa the night of the Aldera West Sadie Hawkins Mixer. She was a somewhat aloof "Diplomat Brat," with a curvy figure and morals to match. I was a brash young flight trainee on the prowl for galactic rear. It was a match made in Doaba Guerfel.

Fast forward two years. Le-Le's been kidnapped by that angry, domed, fallen angel, and guess who gets the call to lead the mission to restore her womanly honor/blow up some crazy shit? Biggs Darklighter, that's who. The one who made the Kessel Run in less than 11 parsecs.

Oh, wait. It wasn't me, was it? And who, you ask, got the call? How about some whiny little farmboy from Tatooine who was all into his twin sis' junk. Creepy if you ask me. Rumor has it the Jedis are all castrated at birth anyway. Pretty tough to make the kind of sweaty, Wampa-love that my girl so craved if you're a space eunuch. What?  No, in fact my name is not Captain Obvious.

So, anyway, prissy and his midget droid took the lead at Yavin, leaving stud fly-boys like Wedge Antilles and me to clean up his mess and let him swoop in to steal the money shot.

And the majestic victory ceremony?  "Ohh, ohh, Luke, you're sooooo brave. Mmmmm Han Solo, look how hot you are. Wow, Chewbacca, you get angry and give the most intimidating pant-hoots. How very charming.  Here's a great big medal and sexy wink from everyone's fave Princess." I wasn't even honored in memoriam. Tacky shit, homie.

Biggs Darklighter should have kissed the girl. Biggs Darklighter should have been the Jedi Messiah of the Galaxy. Biggs Darklighter should have procreated with Leia. What beautiful space babies I'd have sired. But fate is a cruel Sarlacc.

Leia Solo? Really? Sounds like a Hweg Shul prostitute.

And two words about Han: Size Queen.

By the way, Luke, be sure to give your old man my best. Tell him how much I enjoyed the Fire Sweater of Death he bought me that special night. Things have been just dandy ever since.

-Biggs D.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Regress #47: Thanks A Lot, Assface

It's apparently not enough for you to be nearly as handsome, athletic, clever and genitally-fortified as Denny Dance.

No, you had to go and make the worst song to happen to the male species since Marvin Gaye plowed crooned his way through God's bountiful green earth full of buxom nymphets.

Lately, the icy questions come at me fast and angry:

"Denny, why don't you ever say those perfect things to me like Bruno Mars does in his song?

"Denny, you don't ever tell me that my eyes, my eyes make the stars look like they're not shining."

"Denny, have you ever said there's not a thing that you would change when you see my face?"

"Denny, how come you haven't said to me that when I smile the whole world stops and stares for awhile?"

And what is Denny Dance supposed to say? That nary a single one applies to them in even the remotest sense? I think all that would get Denny is a swift knee to the Jimmy--and not in a good way. 

The sad truth is, I could sit in Monk-like isolation with a quill pen and writing pad for 17 fucking years and not come up with even a syllable toward something as panty-droppingly perfect as the sweet tome for our time that you--the Morris Day of 2010--have bequeathed to an undeserving human race.

Even I'm starting to shout your name while in the throes of passion's elegant thunder--and sometimes even when I'm with another person.

So, if you'd be so kind as to stop what you're doing, The Danceman--and every other male not named you--would be most grateful.

Don't make us order the code red.

Thinly Veiled,
Denny DelVecchio

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Advance #53: Oh Yes, Denny's Staying In Tonight

Denny's body is bathed. His weary bones are lounging. His spirits are up. And the cares of the day have melted away.

Time for a sojourn to the Black Tie District to drink in the nightlife?

Not tonight.  Denny has something else planned.

It's time to fire up the Whackatron 3000 and settle back for some quality he-time with my first love, Angela Lansbury, for what promises to be an evening of sizzling, bi-generational epicurean delights.

2:59 is where my pause button typically gets a little bit of, as they say in Boston, a workout.

Celebrating Her Love,
Denny DelVecchio