The Reason All of this Ended So Poorly

Well, hi. I know we haven't posted anything in God knows how long and I know that we were in Prague for upwards of a month and haven't mentioned it (except in passing, intoxicated, perhaps) or displayed any pictures of said city, but, friends, there comes a time when you have to call a spade a spade and this, fair readers, is the most david of spades.

What can we say? We burnt out.

And, we know: It's not like keeping a blog that maybe 11 people read where your only real task is posting something whenever you want is that difficult, it's just... it's just... well, the truth is: Casey wouldn't do it anymore. See? I wanted him to, I'd be like, "Stop g-chatting and post something." And he'd be like, "I'm looking for a job." And I'd be like, "No you're not, I'm watching you g-chat right now. You just used an emoticon." And he'd be like, "Me? Me? ME? Look bro, this is a team effort. You post." And then I'd be like, "Fine. Get off the computer." And he'd be like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy. Easy. G and I are trying to remember all the lyrics to 'Clocks' by Coldplay. We're almost halfway through the song:)"

So, friends, I'm sorry. We really had a good thing going for awhile didn't we? Or did we? Maybe we didn't...

But just so you know, now both of us are back in the United States, we're somewhat healthy and normal and doing the standard 25-26 year old thing of living with our moms until we "figure things out". We will have our final posts, including the much awaited, ne'er delivered Prague post and some final thoughts to close out the Chefka experience. Like the creators of the television show "Conviction", we feel that we should go out on top, after only part of one season, with Eric Balfour riding shotgun.

Blame it on the Rain,

the Chefka

Bonus:
Lyrics to Clocks by Coldplay:
Lights go out and I cant be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have bought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead
Singing
Come out of things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head
And a trouble that cant be named
A tigers waiting to be tamed
Singing
You are
You are
Confusion that never stops
The closing walls and the ticking clocks
Gonna come back and take you home
I could not stop, that you now know
Singing come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities
Am I part of the cure
Or am I part of the disease
Singing
You are,you are
You are,you are
You are,you are
You are,you are
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
You are,you are
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go(you are)
Home, home, where I wanted to go(you are)

The Infamous (James) Beard Pics: Volume 1 (with applicable links)

http://beardcommunity.com/links/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beard
http://estore.websitepros.com/1151162/Detail.bok?no=7
http://www.gossiprocks.com/forum/hot-guys/21110-tyson-beckford-model.html

http://bloggywood.se/?p=189

The Chefka Recommendation: Hungarian Food (plus an awkwardly large amount of pictures!)

Looking at Pest from Castle Hill in Buda. And no, I don't know what that is.
Hungarian children playing on artillery weapons, Part 1.
King Arthur?
Another angle from Castle Hill, complete with partial view of said Castle.
Old town Buda.

The Hungarian Equivalent of the Big Cat, sized to scale.
Dudes killing a Dragon, obvi.
Hungarian children play on artillery weapons, Part 2.
The Vaci Utca, Budapest's main pedestrian shopping area, and the place I almost bought a nude "Buns of Budapest" postcard.


KA: In order to understand this post, I'm providing a brief but illuminating, "Things you don't know about Hungary, but must, in case you get on Jeopardy": They always pick the losing side of war (films): Siding with the played out Austrians vs Prussia in 1866, with Magua and the French against Daniel Day Lewis in "Last of the Mohicans", against Brad "Tristan" Pitt in "Legends of the Fall", with ze Germans during the intense battle scenes from "Saving Private Ryan", and, inexcusably, against Kyle Watkins 3 on 3 squad in "Above the Rim". Also, they have wild cats, lake bats, and other semi-exotic animals that don't rhyme. And, perhaps most importantly, they cook everything, and I do really mean everything, using paprika, that mild reddish pepper that's nothing like, but constantly confused with nutmeg-- the spice of choice in Matt Brady's fave after workout beverage, eggnog.

But whatever they're doing, the Hungarians are doing it right. My three day side excursion to Budapest sans the Big Cat was made all the more satisfying, not just because I didn't have to wake up three times a night to his Herculean snores and pretend to be interested in his top 5 favorite reasons Zach Braff probably likes Coldplay so much (reason 3: More intensely chill than the Shins? JK! LOL!), but also because Hungarian food proved to be the tastiest I've had on this entire trip. No offense, Slovakia.

Budapest itself is a congenial, moderately good looking city, er, actually two cities, Buda--the more attractively symmetrical, suburban side and Pest, the, um, other side. I went to Buda each day to sightsee and "get some fresh air", but-- in the same way that my grandparents eat 90% of all their meals at either the Student Prince or the Monte Carlo in Springfield, MA-- I ate every meal over three days at one of two restaurants in Pest. That's how scared I was to go anywhere after dark.

For lunch, I would sit at this one cafe and order goulash (spicy meat stock soup seasoned with paprika and chock full o' potato dumplings, veggies, and meat) and these pancakes filled with seasoned beef and topped with...paprika sauce and sour cream and try and appear contemplative or busy writing when the waiter walked by.

And then, after purging that meal, I would head to my other spot for dinner, alone, with my book, and eat chicken in a, yep, paprika sauce with egg noodle dumplings, sour cabbage, and homemade pickled hot peppers and listen to a terrible American cover band play "Isn't She Lovely", but that was irrelevant. Home-fucking made hot peppers. Chicken falling off the bone. Paprika based cream sauce that hurt my stomach. And a beer. Or two, whatever, I wasn't driving. And neither meal cost more than 10 bucks. I felt rich, like John Goodman in King Ralph rich.

Yeah sure, I was gaining three to four pounds a day and starting to feel "lightheaded" when I had to "walk upstairs" or "stand up" and yes, my stomach would rutherford b. haze me for up to fourteen days following all of that rich dairy, but, like the Magyar people say, "Menjen el! Eltevedtem. (Go away! I'm lost.)"

Join me next time, when the Big Cat discovers that Zach Braff has been cheating on Coldplay with Snow Patrol and I go to Bratislava, Slovakia, for no particular reason I can think of.

Hivjon egy orvost (Call a doctor!),

the Chefka

Im sorry, Mama. An apology of sorts, via the Chefka

KA: Okay. Okay. Okay. Look. Last night, we went to have a quiet evening of watching some NCAA basketball, slaying one to two brews, and then calling it a night. This did not go exactly according to plan. The teams we picked all won, the beers we drank increased in volume, and we decided to extend the night by coming home, putting music videos on Youtube, and finding ourselves. This, as you can imagine, took some time. And some whiskey. And a rather incoherent blog post. So we're sorry you (you mostly being our parents) had to see that. But, like childbirth, it may not have been pretty, but it was beautiful. Thoughts emerged. Philosophies were discussed. Case took off his shirt and then went over the bridge and bought bagels and mixed vegetable cream cheese.

So we just want everyone to know that we're not dead, we're just very, very Chefka. And yes, Big Mama Cat, we do need to come home. Post haste. Call my mom.


There's no place,
like home

The Chefka

Meta Big Cat, During the Holy Cross Game, Sans Objectivity

KA:

3:19 AM: 14-13 Holy Cross. We are listening to the game on the radio because no sports bar in Prague will stay open past 3 AM. The Big Cat is walking around the apartment wearing a SK Slavia Praha Soccer shirt and drinking a Budvar tall boy. He is "nervously upset" with a tinge of non-sobriety making him considerably less so. During the time out breaks he thumbs through the Barack Obama book Dreams from my Father, perhaps for motivation, perhaps because he knows Obama can shoot the j and scratches his longish, awkwardly curly hair. The commentator is a terrible, terrible man named Pete Gillen who has the dirtiest New York accent which makes me feel like I haven't showered in days, which is sort of true. The Big Cat stands with his arms crossed and his hand covering his mouth, swearing randomly. "That was not a pretty free throw" says Pete Gillen in his accent, and I almost dry heave.

3:39 AM: 24-19 S. Illinois. Ted Baker of some advertisement tells us that a free credit report will get us chicks. Pete Gillen tells us to "go to the big dog, Tim Clifford" in the worst accent. Case sits by the window, with a sorry, angry look on his face, as HC turns it over, again. Get your shit right, HC, I say. "When Clifford gets down in the block, in the Patriot League, he probably moves people but, no offense, he can't do that here against athletes like they have on the Saluki's." says not Pete Gillen. Case agrees with his body language. Nothing good happens.

3:45 AM: 30-25 S. Illinois. Meister has scored the majority of the points, and he is awkward. Case attempts to psych himself up. "We've endured an alley oop, if we hit 40% of our shots in the second half, we should get even. We've got a dude with 3 fouls. He will play more. If fucking Dougherty (Timmy Monahan) would pull his shit together, that would help." Now the Big Cat is stretching his calves.

4:11 AM: 31-25. S Illinois. Tory Thomas hasn't a scored a fucking point from the field yet. Pete Gillen has no idea what's going on. He uses the word precarious without having any idea what it means.

4:25 AM: 38-34. S Illinois. Tory Thomas did something bad and everyone at Holy Cross is shooting like they're retarded, not like fake retarded, like really retarded, like its awkward. Like they hate productivity and capitalism, and Freedom. I remind Case that these Colors don't run. He tries to hit me. And misses. Tim Monahan hit a 3 at some point and Case slaps my hand so hard it hurts. 17th turnover for HC. They might not win a Special Olympics game, especially if they played Lithuania who is underrated. Clifford misses a free throw and CK Hurls almost breaks a not very sweet candle.

4:40 AM: 46-40 S. Illinois. The Big Cat gets on the ground and does push ups. "This will help the team", he says, but does he believe it? "Tory Thomas could make a fucking shot," he says, post push ups, his pectoral muscles (probably) throbbing. Quote of the week, "Grab the game by the neck and choke it." Pete Gillen, no doubt on Vicodin and heroin. "The banks are open," Pete Gillen says. The dry heaving resumes.

4:50 AM: 55-46, S. Illinois. "Im' upset, I'm upset, I'm upset. I'm not not upset." the Big Cat says. Keith Simmons has done nothing right. Keith has been offensively bad. Keith should do community service in a low income area. The Big Cat is losing his mind. "Winnable game, winnable fucking game..." Tim Clifford fouls out. "Very emotional." says Pete Gillen, but doesn't mean it.

5 AM: 56- 47 S. Illinois. The Big Cat is almost inconsolable, facing the wall, leaning over and not even looking at me. I say something to try and get him to look over and it doesn't work. He stretches his very limber calves again. "After the game we're gonna pass out." says Pete Gillen, for no real reason.

The Big Cat puts down his beer and goes and lies down the couch with his hands behind his head and looks down at his awesome shirt. HC is down 9. There is a moment. Pete Gillen is no longer talking. Torey Thomas subs out and he sucks but Ralph Willard hugs him out anyway. I apologize to the Big Cat and play Without Me on Youtube in an attempt to make him feel better. "Too soon," The BC says. "Way too soon. "

Chefka packs up the DeLorean to bring you this year's NCAA tourney picks.

It's not easy to cheat at sports gambling. And we assure you, it was even harder to find a DeLorean in the Czech Republic, especially one that wasn't stick so the Big Cat didn't have to do all the driving. But if we're anything, we're overcomers of obstacles. And with that said, we give you the winning brackets for the 2007 NCAA men's basketball tournament, complete with director's commentary and obscure tourney veteran interviews. It took us two days. Of just doing this. So sit back, relax, and light up a Chefka. Because, like C&C Music Factory said, "We're Gonna Make You Sweat Till You Bleed."

The Nelly/Chingy Region (St. Louis)

First Round:

Florida v Jackson St. Winner: Florida. Comment: Samuel L.'s alma mater can't run with the Gators, despite J. Noah being the undisputed ugliest man in the tourney.

Arizona v Purdue. Winner: Arizona. Comment: We dare you to name an attractive girl who went to Purdue. What'd you say? No. That's a dude.

Butler v ODU. Winner: Butler. Comment: Butler is in Indiana and we've all seen Hoosiers. ODU is in Afghanistan. And we've all seen CNN. You do the math.

Maryland v Davidson: Winner: Maryland. Comment: Davidson is a proven Goliath killer, but Maryland is a secular state university and College Park is on the Metro. Red line, bitches.

Notre Dame v Winthrop (Road): Winner: Notre Dame. Comment: The team that Casey got together from his old road in Wellesley is pretty good but they can't handle the stifling zone (man to man?) of the Fightin' Irish led by Fightin' Dan Lustig.

Oregon v Miami (Oh): Winner: Oregon. Comment: The Hurricanes, tired from their move to Ohio, lose to Oregon in what Miami grad Ray Lewis called, "A first degree murder."

UNLV v Georgia Tech: Winner: G Tech. Comment: Travis Best, son. Know this.

Wisconsin v Texas AM Corpus Christi: Winner: Wisconsin. Comment: As George W. Bush famously said at Gettysburg, " What the fuck is Texas A&M Corpus Christi?"

Second Round:

Florida v Arizona: Winner: Florida. Comment: The Big Cat hates Florida but feels threatened by Arizona's mascot. As AZ alumni Steve Kerr said, "Meow?"

Butler v Maryland: Winner: Butler. Comment: Neither of us can name a single player that's ever played for any of Butler's Athletic programs, but we read on PerezHilton that DJ Strawberry likes partying with his dad and Tony Yayo.

Notre Dame v Oregon: Winner: Oregon. Comment: We flipped a Czech coin, dragons it was Oregon, churches it was ND, and the fucking dragons took it. No brainer. Literally.

GT v Wisconsin: Winner: Wisconsin. Comment: As Jeb Bush said on Celebrity Jeopardy, "Seriously now. Where the fuck is Texas A&M Corpus Christi?"

Sweet Sixteen.

Florida v Butler: Winner: Florida. Comment: As famous Florida alumnae Faye Dunaway said, "If Graves is pressured into poor shooting, it will have a domino effect on the rest of the Butler squad. And the Bulldogs will no doubt have trouble matching up against Florida's length inside."

Oregon v Wisconsin: Winner: Wisconsin. Comment: Have you ever seen a Duck eat a Badger? Yeah, that's what we--wait, seriously? Send us the link.

Elite Eight.

Florida v Wisconsin: Winner: Florida. Comment: No, honestly now. Where did you get a video of a duck eating a badger?

Final Four team: Florida. Random tourney veteran analysis by Florida Alum Dmitri "da Meat Hook" Hill: "Does Noah have a meat hook? It's like a hook but waaaayyyy meatier. Tell Billy Donovan to holler."

Wow. We are one fourth the way done. How are you still reading this? Aren't you fired yet? Take a break, get right, because we're moving to the left coast.

The Suge Knight Region (Cali):

First Round:

Kansas v play in game. Winner: Play in. Comment: We just play...in'....? Get it?... No? Whatevs.

Kentucky v Villanova. Winner: Villanova. Comment: As Villanova alum Caitlin Brennan said, "I'm engaged."

Virginia Tech v Illinois. Winner: V Tech. Comment: Barack's meteoric rise (and solid 19 foot J) aren't enough to slow Marcus Vick's temper tantrums. Hokies by eight. (Zogby margin of error: +/- 5)

Southern Illinois v THE Holy Cross. Winner: Christianity. Comment: St. Augustine didn't spend all those hours in the gym to lose to a bunch of dudes who got wait listed at Clark.

Duke v VCU. Winner: The Blue Satan. Comment: It's a good thing the Blue Satan didn't draw St. Augustine in the first round.

Pitt v Wright St. Winner: Pitt. Comment: Pittsburgh is gross but Dayton is grosser. Ew.

Indiana v Gonzaga. Winner: Christianity. Comment: The Jesuits are straight killin' dudes. This region reeks of the Da Vinci Code.

UCLA v Weber St. Winner: UCLA. Comment: Without Googling it, where is Weber St? If you said America, you're wrong.

Second Round:

Kansas v Nova. Winner: Kansas. Comment: Villanova alum Ed Pickney said, "I don't care about this tournament. Give me a job."

Virginia Tech v THE Holy Cross: Winner: The 'Saders. Comment: As Hardball psycho Chris Matthews says, "If the Cross doesn't win, Al Qaeda wins in Iraq!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Prove me wrong. I fucking dare you!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Duke v Pitt: Winner: Pitt. Comment: Ew. Get the Purell. I think Pitt just touched my leg.

Gonzaga v UCLA. Winner: UCLA. Comment: UCLA alum Tyus Edney said, "I'm sure the game will be well officiated...seriously, I've got nothing. Let's move on, you guys are obviously running out of material."

Sweet Sixteen.

Kansas v GOD. Winner: Kansas? Comment: What's the matter with God?

Pitt v UCLA. Winner: UCLA. Comment: As Pitt put it, "Hold back my hair. I think I'm going to puke. Oh, ew. I got it on your shoes. You know I'm not paying for that." Triple Ew.

Elite Eight.

Kansas v UCLA. Winner: UCLA. Comment: Despite one of his sons getting waitlisted at UCLA, God gets his revenge.

Final Four team: UCLA. Random tourney veteran analysis by Holy Cross all time leading scorer Ron Feaster: "This region will be moderately entertaining but pales in comparison to the time that I torched Colgate for 69 despite them moving the hoops to 13 feet and breaking my legs. I had to play the second half with roller skates on my knees, and I still dunked."

Halftime. We are drunk. It is 3 AM. Keep your job. Do right. Stop reading this. No? Fine then, consider yourself warned. I'm not writing you a rec.

The Redman Region (Dirty Jerz):

UNC v Eastern Kentucky. Winner: UNC. Comment: Isn't East Kentucky in Ohio? So are they playing the Hurricanes? We're confused.

Marquette v Michigan State. Winner: Michigan State. Comment: As Michigan State alum King Leonidas famously yelled at Matt Brady, "Sparta runs the break!!!"

USC vs the Razorbacks. Winner: Not Bill Clinton. Comment: Hilary Clinton says, "Not since Pat Bradley graduated from Everett High have the Razorbacks been able to jack so many trey wingo's. Bet me you can't think of anyone more obscure."

Texas v N. Mexico State. Winner: Texas. Comment: Kevin Durant playing nude by himself with a junior women's ball beats New Mexico by 30.

Vanderbilt v GW. Winner: Vandy. Comment: George Washington may have been able to chop down cherry trees but he can't hit the open man on the break for shit. We can't tell a lie, Vandy wins by 17(76?).

Washington St v Oral Roberts. Winner: Wash St. Comment: Insert fellatio joke here. No ideas? We'll get you started... Oral Roberts? More like Oral...Sex!!!!

BC v Texas Tech. Winner: BC. Comment: Timmy Monahan comes off the bench to take 16 charges in 2 minutes, and gets an unprecedented 37 Tommy points. Bobby Knight says, "Dudes like a whiter Steve Alford."

Georgetown v Joe Toomey (Belmont). Winner: Gtown. Comment: The mayor of Galway says, "If basketball was darts, Joe still would've lost. He wasn't even good in high school."

2nd round

Unc v Michigan State. Winner: Unc. Comment: Unc alum Eric Montross said, "Other than Joakim Noah, can you think of anyone uglier than Cherokee Parks that wasn't named Bryant "Big Country" Reeves?"

USC v Texas. Winner: Texas. Comment: In a rematch of the 2005 Championship game, V. Young runs for 10 fouls and throws for 16 illegal defenses. Meanwhile, Matt Lionheart dates Kristin Cavalleri, who sucks at basketball.

Vanderbilt v Washington St. Winner: Vanderbilt. Comment: The Big Cat thinks Washington St will win, but he's not typing.

BC v Georgetown. Winner: Gtown. Comment: Jared Dudley would win an ugly contest vs a tragic car accident.

Sweet Sixteen.

Unc v Texas. Winner: Texas? Comment: The Big Cat is convinced that Kevin Durant is the next Jesus Shuttlesworth. If you don't know who that is, you're probably not reading this anyway. Go back to sleep.

Vandy v Gtown. Winner: Gtown. Comment: After beating the second whitest school in the tourney last round, Gtown has no trouble smacking the Commodores across their preppy, sweater vested chests. Someones parents are suing someone.

Elite Eight:

Texas v Gtown. Winner: Gtown. Comment: Durant, forced to play in clothes with a men's ball is no match for the Hoyas, fresh off a lawsuit and several Tanqueray tonics deep at Smithpointe, who, led by Jeff Green, all admit, "We'd rather be yachting."

Final Four team: Georgetown. Random tourney veteran analysis: BC Alum Scoonie Penn said, "Let's just hope no one runs into lockdown defense like that of Mike Keohane, Belmont High '97, Trinity College '01. But seriously, why was that dude always so mad?"

It's honestly 4:20 in the morning, and I can't see the keyboard. The Big Cat is speaking strictly in Latin, and the weirdest part is: I can understand him. If you're still reading at this point, it's probably to use this as evidence against us in some sort of defamation trial. To that we say, Call our lawyer, Steve (Tim) Chefka (Monahan), esq (781 237 7386). Deep breath. Let's get physical.

The Paul Wall Region (San Antonio, TX):

First Round:

Ohio State v Central Conn St. Winner: Ohio State. Comment: Fuck you. How can u expect us to comment on this? Color me offended. Then Color me bad.

BYU v Xavier. Winner: Xavier. Comment: When have the Mormon's ever won anything, except the Mass Gubernatorial race in 2000? The answer is whenever they get married, because we've both seen Big Love starring Bill Paxton.

Tennessee v Long Beach State. Winner: Arrested Development. Comment: Does no one get that reference? They had a song called Tennessee...and a song called Mr. Wendell. Did Mr. Wendell live in Tennessee? This looks like a case for Nancy Drew... Btw: Call my mom. I need to go home.


Virginia v Albany. Winner: Frank Saviano. Comment: To paraphrase the Big Cat, "Cavalier (o's?) s beat Mosquitos any day of the week." Of course, Albany's nickname isn't the Mosquitos, but who's really checking the facts at this point?

Louisville v Stanford. Winner: Stanford. Comment: Big Cat, again, "Ugh, I have nothing funny to say about this. Write something offensive and use an exclamation point." Fuck that!

Texas AM v U Penn. Winner: Texas. Comment: George H. W. Bush at the Kennebunkport Pancake Festival, "No, no, no, no, no...seriously.... where in the fuck is Texas A&M Corpus Christi?"

Nevada v Creighton. Winner: Creighton. Comment: Michael Crichton wins via science. Eat it, Mormons.

Memphis (Bleek) v North Texas. Winner: Memphis. Comment: No.

Second Round:

Ohio State v Xavier. Winner: Ohio State. Comment: Not even Dr. Xavier can stop the Buckeyes who admit that "Compared to the Buckeye, Xavier's nickname is almost cool."

Tennessee v Virginia. Winner: Tennessee. Comment: As Thomas Jefferson said, "Wait... basketball wasn't invented before i died..."

Stanford v Texas A&M. Winner: The Aggies. Comment: If Stanford was actually a good college, maybe we'd pick them. Too bad they were Chefka's uber safety school, behind (David?) Blaine Hair and Beauty, where we both we're wait listed.

Creighton v Memphis. Winner: Creighton. Comment: "Oh man, is that really who we picked?" said the Big Cat. "We're going to regret that. Now get me some water."

Sweet Sixteen

Ohio State v Tennessee. Winner: Ohio State. Comment: If Daniel Boone was alive today, he would no doubt be very confused by the Internet.

Texas A&M v Creighton: Winner: Aggies. Comment: Michael Crichton is no match for A even after M fouls out.

Elite Eight

Ohio State v Texas A&M. Winner: Texas A&M. Comment: "That's gonna be a terrible pick," says the Big Cat, at 5:16 AM as he chugs a water and holds his head in his massive, oversized hands and says quietly. "This isn't even fun anymore."

Final Four team: Texas A&M. Random tourney veteran analysis: BYU alum Brigham Young said, " All the unmarried bitches in the house, holler at ya boy on my myspace page, brighamyeezy@stackin'wiveslikepaper.net."

Day 2. We just woke up very, very confused. But, like P. Diddy says, "Can't Stop, Won't Stop, Bad Boy.....eh eh, eh eh" Off to the finals. Let's get this paper.

The Final Four Hosted by Jermaine Dupree (the ATL)

Semi-final games.

Florida v UCLA. Winner: UCLA. Comment: Since the which-school-has-hotter-girls-pick is a wash, we go to our guest commentator Pac Man Jones, who believes the team that would "slap more bitches" and generally "handle theirs" would ultimately "get out on parole". So....um, UCLA?

Georgetown v Texas A&M. Winner: Georgetown. Comment: For this we turn to Georgetown Alum King Abdullah Deuce of Jordan. His Majesty says, "I just took a call from Former President Bush, and I just, I just can't see this Texas A&M Corpus Christi. Seriously, I've got a map right here, it's of Texas, it's very large, it's made of oil. Can you see it? Point it out on the map for me. Do it. No? See, that's what I'm fucking talking about. I don't think it exists. What? What's that? Oh, oh, a prediction? Georgetown in 6. Hoya Saxa, bitches!!!"

The Finals hosted by Bubba Sparxx featuring Yung Joc.

Georgetown v UCLA. Winner: Christianity, per usual. Comment: Amen.

Join us next time when Chefka commentates on all 6000 rounds of the Major League draft but does it, like, hilariously. And if you did manage to get to the end of this post, please leave your name and address in the comments section and we will send you an autographed Chefka bobblehead doll featuring the Big Cat (head to scale!) in a velour "Czech Yourself" sweatsuit.

This is wrong. This is all really, really wrong.

Chefka

On Stray Cats, the Big Cat and Other Non-Cat Related Things: A Daily Journal of Istanbul, Turkey.

The Big Cat attempts to capture the stray dog's softer side.

If you look closely, the dog has...udders? Nipples? Either way, don't look closely.

A Turkish man on his way to work, after deciding to brown bag his lunch.

The Grand Bazaar, inverted.

The Cat and Nell on an island, sans nippled stray dog.

Castle GreySkull?

Asian Tourist in Cowboy Hat. And Suit. On his way to hike up to a castle. Obviously.

The real Castle GreySkull?

Possibly the Aya Sofia. Not pictured: 3 to 4 million stray cats.

KA: Blogs are, like, so tiring to keep up with. Everytime you go to a new place or have something "exotic" or "life alteringly uncomfortable" happen to you, you're supposed to write another post, and then there's the whole other thing of trying to maintain the impossibly high bar we've set for ourselves with each new bold, witty, eternally clever entry, peaking, of course, with the unforgettable "the 'ditions at Matterhorn Mountain" post from Zermatt, Switzerland that was so perfect, so utterly Chefka, that no one could even think of a way to comment on it.

But, alas, there was more to Istanbul than the Big Cat's soaped up adventure in male bonding, and we can't seem to get Nell to sign her name to the entry we ghost wrote for her from Turkey tentatively titled, "Is Chefka too handsome?" so here is a brief journal of our day to day activities from the capital of the Turkish republic, omitting details I can't remember, mixing up dates and ignoring anything that happened while I was in the bathroom grooming my beard.


Day 1: Arrive in Istanbul confused and upset from aforementioned Turkish airlines cigarette episode, to find that my ATM card doesn't work. Whine, then sulk. Go back to whining. The Big Cat purchases our visa's and we are conned into getting a "shuttle" to our hotel by a seven foot five inch Turkish man wearing a suit, who tells us he's from "South Africa" but has clearly a) never been to South Africa and is b) quite obviously Turkish. Unclear why he lies. The shuttle turns out to be an angry man speaking no English driving a Toyota Tercel. Awkward aggressively paced drive in silence is followed by desperate search for our hotel, where we meet up with Nell and go to dinner at 11 pm, trailed by upwards of fifteen stray cats. Nell mildly off put when I admit to not having showered in "3 days". Shake that off and blame it on her "jet lag".

Day 2: Wake up to breakfast of Turkish pastries, a bagel like thing, fruit, salad and olives. Nell, the only person who'd brought any sort of information on Turkey to the country, tells us our agenda for the day. Attempt to find mosque, stumble into Spice Bazaar. Vendors yell out countries they think we could be from as we pass. "Hello! Hello! Italia! Australia! England! Belmont, MA?" Feel kind of important, kind of scared. Assume I'm being pickpocketed, even when alone. Try Turkish Delight, which is like marshmallow and pistachios. Like Turkish Delight. Find mosque accidentally. Nell covers her hair and we have to take off our shoes. Get nervous because my shoes are, admittedly, sweet. Can't appreciate the mosque because of the shoes. Go outside to be with the shoes.

Walk down the gauntlet of restaurants on our way back from sightseeing adventure trailed by no less than 70 cats, 3 of them cute. Waiters from restaurants stand outside and yell things at us as we walk by. One host is particularly charming, and offers us "free glasses of Raki (a Turkish liquor) if we go to his restaurant that night" along with six or seven other things. We commit and return later that night to reap our rewards, trailed by roughly 40 stray cats asking us for spare change. There is Raki. It is not free. And it tastes like sambuca mixed with anger, and, according to a Wikipedia search, is Arabic for the word "sweat". That is gross. Nell gets "Turkish ravioli" and likes it as much as the Raki. Our man is nowhere to be seen. Go back to hotel and get drunk on cheap white wine and strangely flavored peanuts.

Day 3: See the Aya Sofia and the Blue Mosque. One is large, old and Christian and the other is large, old and Muslim. The Big Cat sees Asian tourists at both, which makes him happy. The Christian church has a hole in a pillar where people stick their finger in and--if it's wet-- it's considered good luck. Fill in joke. The Muslim one is more impressive, mainly because it's blue. Am taken into a Persian rug store by a man I've just met. He tells me his first American wife only "wanted shiny things" and offers me a rug for "25 grand, delivered to my door in the US". I take out my credit card, but Nell and the Big Cat inform me that I should maybe keep looking and that I don't need a Persian rug, not just because my roommate at home's nickname in high school was "Persh". Disappointed, I leave, storming through a mass of 90 to 160 stray cats asking us for Raki.

Day 4: It is Valentine's Day. Celebrate by taking a cruise on the Bosphorus sea for seven hours. The Big Cat sees an Asian Tourist in a suit and an unusually small cowboy hat and is overjoyed. Get to some unidentified waterfront town. Follow the people hiking up to very old castle. Am trailed by mangy dog with seven long hanging nipples from her stomach for the entire hike. 200 to 280 cats ask us for old issues of Okay! magazine. Climb to the top. Views are spectacular. Climb up castle like nimble gymnast, cut my hand, whine. Eat a fish shish kebab for lunch. Watch 300 cats sit around the old men peeling the fish. Want a waffle from a stand. Don't get it. Fall asleep on cruise back.

Dinner at romantic pizza joint in cool part of city. Don't feel cool because we are the only non-couple in the restaurant, misfire our order and end up with two of the exact same huge pizzas and the smallest scallops ever seen by man. Complain about the amount of food then eat it all. Decline the complimentary heart shaped chocolates. Back at the hotel, the Big Cat admits that he could see himself "seriously dating Justin Timberlake" if he was a woman. A cat tries to come in our open fourth story window, defying gravity and common courtesy. Nell is not amused.

Day 5: Go to Grand Bazaar with the Big Cat and Nell's friend who is living in Istanbul. The Big Cat is dissuaded from buying a necklace when the vendor tells him "only problem is it will stain skin or dress or shirt if wet". Avoid 350 stray cats asking for change for the jukebox to play songs off of 'Justified'. Try to negotiate for Apple Tea, give up when it becomes clear the vendor has dozed off. Take a ferry to Asia. Looks like Europe. But crazier. Eat ridiculously tasty Turkish food, thanks to Nell's friend, have no idea what any of it is. Then eat sweets at the place that invented Turkish delights. Complain about how hard my life is.

Go out that night with another one of Nell's friends, a man named Cem (pronounced Gem) who picks us up, takes us to a cellar wine bar and feeds us and gets us drunk on sour cherry wine. Regales us with most fascinating stories including one where he explains being shot at a nightclub as a "miscommunication" and talks about a certain particularly rough absinthe filled night in which he believed he could "hold on to the ankles" of a soccer player through the television. Best storyteller ever. Makes me feel uncool for not being shot. Get uproariously drunk. Dream about (Big?) cats.

Day 6: Leave in the late morning for flight to Budapest, and 6 day split with the Big Cat. Get in fight as I leave with the Biggest of Cats about Nell bringing books home. Am informed that I'm "definitely not Justin Timberlake". A single stray cat asks me if I want to buy an Aya Sofia foam hand. I do, obviously, but it doesn't make me feel any better. On the way to the airport, my request to the taxi driver to put on "Say Goodbye (the live Red Rocks version)" are met with blank stares. Shed single tear.

Join us next as Chefka path momentarily divides, with the Big Cat purchasing XXL "Praha Drinking Team" sweatshirts in Prague and me learning that Slovakian people aren't not scared of Vampires.

He's a Cold Hearted Snake (Look Into His Eyes),

The Chefka