Thursday, April 5, 2012

Take The Wheel, The Marc Anthony Collection

Eds. Note: Denny's sorry that he has been gone for so long. And, of course, he has chosen his first new post in almost a year to be from the POV of a low-to-mid grade gentlemens' clothing line hailing from a Wisconsin-based department store. But the She-juice slicked truth is, he has missed you something terrible.  And by "he" he means "I".

Greetings, men and boys 80-155 pounds with abnormally dainty frames and avian wrists that an infant could fit their hand aroundAt you I cast a loving men-brace, because I have been put on this beautiful realm (via a subhuman, 102 degree Haitian textile sweatshop that would make Ron Paul weep) to envelop your wispy, emaciated bag of sticks in the stylish accoutrements demanded by your dangerous, devil-may-care self-perception...but on a sensible budget befitting your actual staid, sexless, middle-management shell of an existence.

I am The Marc Anthony Collection. 

Whether you're cursed with a concave chest, 7 inch biceps or a lineage traced down from generations of circus dwarfs, there's something in The Marc Anthony Collection for you. Why? Because I was started as a Panamanian tax shelter of questionable repute, then morphed into a more palatable way to hide my namesake's marital assets from an ample-bottomed, Puerto Rican courtesan that calls herself Lopez.  That good enough for you? 

Having an online video chat later with the 325 pound she-beast from Upper Michigan you met on 

Trying to glad-hand your manager so you can finally get the closing shift off this weekend at Dress Barn?

Or gathering up the force of will to ask your adult education teacher out for a post-class Danish? 

Well take my proverbial hand, partner, close your eyes and let me walk you down the aisle of clothing delight as you morph from a rail-thin, guileless zero whose daily highpoint is masturbating vigorously to the last three minutes of The Good Wife, into a a rail-thin, guileless zero whose daily highpoint is masturbating vigorously to the last three minutes of The Good Wife in a Faustian, 70% silk evening jacket and matching ultra-slim fit velour Poet Slacks.  

Throw a rib-hugging Grecian Bomber Jacket and braided 29" Cuban-leather belt in your cart and you're 2/3 of the way to Sweet Snatch Hollow--and all for under $37.96 (with in-store coupon)! 

Still here, aren't you, playboy? 

That's what The Marc Anthony Collection thought. 

Now put away that May expense report, shut down your Compaq Presario, hop in your 2006 Toyota Camry LE, and get your pre-skeletal fucking ass down to Kohl's, before Chuck in legal asks Wendy out and diddles her on his sailboat as you lament not heeding The Marc Anthony Collection's simple advice. 

And make no mistake--Chuck will hit that shit.  Doggy style. 

It's your move. 

Might I humbly suggest The Marc Anthony Collection? 

Good. Because I just did. 

The Marc Anthony Collection


A Vapid Blonde said...

Oooh. Skinny pants for skinny men.. All that's needed is turniquit belt. (sp)

Dr. Cynicism said...

The Marc Anthony Collection is here to finally get me to the next ladder rung in life. Here I come middle management!!

Bearman said...

I bought the largest pair of pants. I use it as a scarf

singlegirlie said...

I bet speaking in the first person is that much harder when your name is four words long. You sound sexy as hell, but I doubt Denny would be able to squeeze his massive manaconda into those gnomish poet slacks.

So happy to have you back, Denny. I'm she-juicing in my yoga pants at this very moment.

Denny DelVecchio said...

@AVB: My weiner needed a turniquit (sp?) once after a snakebite. Never found the "other" snake. Get it?

@Doc Sin: You were already there. Time to put away your Tommy Hilfiger shit from Marshall's.

@Bear: Just hot.

@Single: Please send me the gently-soiled panties that you promised me in 2009.

Penelope said...

Oh, D, we missed you too. And by "we," I mean "I". Or something. Came for the Del V, laughed at the "Oh wait..." clip, really really laughed (climax-ifully) at the 2006 Toyota Camry, had a post-coital ciggie at imagining Chuck and Wendy's shenanigans under-deck, and now laughing, once again, at the Holy Fucking Shit tag. Kisses, sweetie.

Denny DelVecchio said...

P-Lope with me, my love. You had me at "let's get freaky."