I’m In Love, I’m in Love, I’m in Love!

HeartLadies and gentlemen, I am in love. And the best part is, he’s a doctor!

It started out as just a little crush, primarily on his business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back hairdo. I’ve never really crushed on hair before, but once you see it you will understand.

I want to make love to these locks. I want to roll around with them in a full motion waterbed. I want to drape my naked body in them and run through the forest.

Now you all know I generally do not make the first move, but in this case an exception was in order. I skillfully crafted a short, innocent note to the mullet of my affection:

“Dear Mr. DelVecchio, I am honored and humbled to have been chosen for display among your approved sites. I shall endeavor to live up to whatever selection standards you may have had. I profess to have a wee crush on your tantalizing tresses. I thought of them fondly the other night as I was pleasuring myself at the behest of our mutual friend, Love in the Dumps. Might they be available for a meaningful/less (you decide) relationship? If so, please ship to LA at your earliest convenience. I promise to handle with care.”

I excitedly posted the note and waited patiently, wondering if I would receive a response. And I did!

“First, I prefer “Dr. DelVecchio”, but “Mr.” will suffice for now.

I’m not sure what a “tress” is, but after viewing your mysterious self-photos, I’m pretty sure that I’m willing to send you anything you request.

Just be warned that I may still be physically attached to whatever it is I that I send.”

Hmm, I hadn’t considered this. A human male would be attached to the mane. This could complicate things. A tough decision, indeed.

But the other day the male did something so romantic, so chivalrous, so macho… and all for little ol’ ME!

The good doctor with the hot hair challenged the shitbag of the year, Mel Gibson, to a fistfight. And he did it just to impress me. Click here, then look at the bottom of the post next to “Labels.” Uh-huh, thas right. Suck on that.

A man has never gotten into a fight for me before, ever. And although I normally do not condone violence of any kind… fuck it! That’s hot.

I was reluctant to announce our affair because I feared all you ladies out there would try to swoop in on my goods. Competition for a good man is rough, I get it. But let me just say y’all better step off, bitches. Or I will go Mel Gibson on YOUR ass. Don’t think I won’t do it.

I owe a debt of gratitude to our friend Matt Brand at Love in the Dumps for introducing us. This mini-celebrity ain’t so shabby himself, by the way. But you know, it’s tough to compete with a guy who has hair like porno star.

And here he is — my love, my loins, the talented and dashing Dr. Denny DelVecchio!

The Mullet

Oh, by the way, I’ve got a date with Tom tonight. Den-den’s in Phoenix so I didn’t think he’d mind. Hope I get lucky! *Crosses fingers*


Postscript:  Seriously, both of the blokes I mention above are funnier than balls (and balls are pretty damn funny), so you should check out their websites at Your New Bad Habit and Love in the Dumps. You’ll be glad you did. But I wasn’t kidding around about the Mel Gibson thing, ladies.

23 replies

  1. I am 100% happy for you…mostly because I am dating all of these guys:

    Well, at least all the ones with mullets. No one has sent me their locks yet however, I am amassing an impressive collection of members only jackets.

  2. OMG..I am hollering over here! I stumbled on your blog because, I saw a hit from it on mine.
    I love the warning about going “Mel Gibson” on someone…gotta use that!

  3. Sooooo, I notice no women have commented on this post. I take it you are either seething with envy and/or taking my threats seriously. Very wise indeed, ladies.

  4. Your flesh-rendezvous suddenly went amiss mere minutes after you let the world know how you feel about Double D.


    Denny Dance doesn’t believe in coincidences.

    Instead, he believes in otherwise random events that seem to be linked in some mystical fashion.

    In honor of you, Denny is staying in tonight with a half gallon of Bluebell Tangy Toffee, Season Four of “Murder She Wrote” and an ache in his beefy vagabond heart.

    • My dearest Denny Den,

      As is often the case, I haven’t the foggiest clue what you just said. I shall take it as some type of highbrow poetry that you have written just for me. Ahhhh, dancing on air!

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