Muck Talk About Puck
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DRapp's Page
Above is the infamous DRapp
A TRIBUTE TO DEWEY
Although I have not known Dewey for very long, my eardrums may never be the same. I think the first time I met Dewey was at the Doners' supremely amazing Super Bowl party 2 years ago. Immediately I knew why Ryan was so good at making fun of people. My first impression of this kid was a simple question: Does he have the same father as Ryan? His skin was dark and his voice was annoying, and he was trying his best to talk over the announcers, much to my chagrin. I thought maybe it was just a fluke, and went back to West Chester not knowing the full extent of Dewey's atrocities. Unfortunately, that ignorance was short lived. In the next year or so, I would encounter Dewey on countless occasions.
Among the shocking facts I found out about Dewfraud was that 18 years of his life were spent as a Dallas Cowboys fan. That's not that bad right? Wrong. His dad was an Eagles season ticket holder, so Dewey went to Eagles home games decked out in his Cowboys shit. As bad as this fraudulence is, it doesn’t compare to his pathetic ability with women. Dewey went to the University of Delaware, a notorious party school, where he was a member of the Tau Epsilon Phi fraternity for four years. During these four years Dewey was unable to lose his virginity, a fact that still amazes me. When you think about it isn’t that shocking, because he would have to stop talking to kiss a female, a feat which I have yet see in person.
Although Dewey can be a bit much at sometimes, I think everyone can say they enjoy his antics. This is why I think we will all miss Dewey, at least a little bit. Dewey is moving to the Tampa area, in search of a job as a sportscaster. We wish him luck with this little endeavor of his, and from all of us, thank you for leaving, for our ears are safe now. Good luck!
THE MOST INTERESTING GOLF STORY EVER
A few years back, while visting my grandparents in Aurora, Ohio (a suburb of Cleveland), we decided to play golf. Now this was not an extraordinary event for me, as many of you already know that I'm an avid golfer, despite my horrendous skills. What was to occur would be one of the craziest incidents of my life, and definitely the most interesting golf story I'll ever have, so let me begin.
First off, it was a threesome, AKA three people going golfing to all you people as perverted as I am. It was my grandmother, my grandfather, and myself. We were going to a course called Ravenswood, a course I had played prior to that and found quite enjoyable. While it was a threesome, only my grandfather and I were going to play since my grandmom has a plethora of medical issues. For this reason, we only brought two golf bags.
We arrived at Ravenswood and I was psyched to play, since I don’t get to play much in NJ or PA. My grandmother and I went to pay to play at the clubhouse. We said that two of were playing but three were going onto the golf course; this was because my grandparents are cheap Jews and were trying to cut a corner. This turned out to be a big mistake. Instead of telling us that we couldn’t pay for just two people he told us that we could not play at all since all three of us didn't have our own bags. He claimed it was an insurance issue. I immediately suggested that we borrow a set of clubs, but he says he could not do this. My grandmother then tried to pull the old Jewish guilt trip on the guy, explaining how she is an old lady and she could not play anymore, but wants to be with her grandson. The guy got pissed off and yelled at her, calling her a moron. This was a turning point, as this situation went from negotiation to pure fighting.
So me being the DRapp that I am, I sprung forward and told this guy not to speak to my grandmother like that. This did not please the fellow whatsoever. At this point it was a full on, face to face yelling match between me and this douchebag golf course owner. Some insults that I remember yelling were about his lack of education and lack of surprise that the place was entirely empty due to the horrible service. Also, I called him an inbred redneck who loves to pleasure himself with his golf clubs. I'd say that was the straw that broke the camels back, as he threatened to call the police and told us to leave. I was not having this since I didn’t do anything wrong, but my grandmother was scared. I walked out with her, and as we were loading the car up with our clubs he came out and started telling us never to come back.
Before the douchebag finished I told him that we would never come back to his anti-Semitic redneck course ever again. This incited him more, so I sprung into action: I took out my seven iron, the only club that I would use to destroy someone's face. I walked toward him; he backed off, so I got in the car and we drove off. He chased us down the road a bit and yelled at us, so I yelled back. That was finally the end of this little adventure at Ravenswood. So to anyone who says golf is boring, put that in your pipe and smoke it, just the way that guy smokes his brother's dick on a daily basis.
LIFE AS DAVE
My name is David Rappaport, aka Dave or the DRapp. This will be my first column for this fraudulent website. Since most of you probably don’t know me, I will give you all a short summary about who I am, which should give you some insight as to what my future columns will be about.
I have have lived my life in three locations. I spent the first half of my life in Washington D.C., which is why I am a Redskins and Orioles fan. From the age of 11 to 18 I lived in Scotch Plains, NJ. For those of you who have no idea where that is, it’s a small town in Union County, which is kind of the middle of New Jersey. My best friend in D.C. was Michael Kornhieser, the son of Monday Night Football announcer Tony Kornhieser. My father was a Redskins season ticket holder with great tickets, and my mother's best friend held Orioles season tickets. At that time my life almost entirely revolved around sports, including being on a championship little league team that my father coached. However, when I moved to Jersey, my interest in sports slowly waned due to the fact that up in this part of Jersey the only sport they play year round is the pseudo sport known as soccer, which in my opinion should be left to faggoty Europeans. I honestly don’t get the fun in chasing a ball up and down a field and falling down to get the other team in trouble. I do understand why people watch; I think this is mainly due to the fact that almost anything is fun while your drunk.
While in Scotch Plains I had a bunch of friends, but a few really stand out. This is because our friendships have a violent history. The first story is about Sam Kovalyov. Sam was three grades behind me and his brother was my best Friend Fred. The violence I referred to earlier occured in eighth grade. Here I am at the Kovalyov's house showing off my new phone, one of those old Nokias that had interchangeable faceplates; it was my first phone. So anyway, I was playing around with it and Sam wanted to see it, so he grabbed it from me and dropped it on the floor. The faceplate popped off, and since it was brand new and I thought he broke it, I punched him in the face. He knew better and got pissed off, so he took out his butterfly knife and ran at me but tripped on some crap on his floor. Instead of stabbing me in the throat he fell and just cut my chest. His brother then attacked him and disarmed him; if you ask Sam about it today he will say he doesn’t regret it and still wish he hadn’t tripped. He is the kind of friend I still have.
Also in eighth grade, the event involving Jerry Halloran occurred. The incident took place after school while waiting in line for the bus to come. I was behind Jerry in line, and being the asshole that I am I was pulling his backpack down. So he swung around and accidentally hit me in the nose and it started bleeding. Obviously, I couldn't let him get away with making me bleed so I tackled him into a thorn bush. I spent the whole bus ride back flailing my arms in a sad effort to beat him up, while he continued to laugh and not fight back. This laughing is probably due to a combination of him being messed up in the head and my pathetic fighting skills. Anyway, the fight occurred at the worst possible time, as we were both suspended the day before the class trip to Six Flags and were unable to attend the trip. A side note: Even though the fight was probably around 15 minutes long, neither of had any real damage. Jerry’s only injuries were from when I tackled him into what happened to be a thorn bush; other than that we were both unscathed. Also, prior to the fight we were not good friends but after the fight we became good friends.
Onto college, where I attend West Chester University, an hour or so outside of Philadelphia. This is where I truly blossomed into the idiot I am today. In high school I never really drank or smoked pot, setting me up for disaster in college. When arriving at WCU, I immediately came into contact with alcohol and was wary of using it. However, I quickly realized that it increased my chances of bedding women, which was quite important to me since I still was in possession of my V-Card at the time. This was a turning point in my life, and led to what can only be described as a mission to become an embodiment of the seven deadly sins. Most of my stories will be of debauchery, very Tucker Max-like, while many other will just be on sports and food, my first two loves. Also, I will likely be writing a lot about TV and movies and my incredible laziness, a laziness that is now legendary. I hope you enjoy the disastrous calamity that is my life.
