We received a great E-mail from "Bob" who told us that he really enjoyed the above "Chili Taster" and he was kind enough to send us a certified narration of "the rest of the story".  We hope you enjoy this as much as we did!  Thanks Bob!

AFTERMATH

The following was derived from interviews with contestants, vendors and attendees, and from various official reports submitted and filed by the city police, county sheriff's office, Highway Patrol, volunteer fire department, officials of the ASPCA, and the EMS ambulance crew.

After Judge Cameron consumed a third large spoonful of Chili #8, he lurched to his feet launching his folding chair back into the lovely Sally, who was catapulted off the rear of the judging stand landing flat on her back in the grass just below the stand. Cameron whispered what bystanders recounted sounded like a desperate plea for assistance: "Help me, for the love of God, help me," and appeared to reach for either the airborne Sally or the two pitchers of beer clutched in her hands. Two of the dogs from the Frisbee Catching Contest ran over to lap at the beer-drenched Sally and her thoroughly saturated clothing, such as it was. Sally attempted to demurely both recover her composure as well as re-cover some of her more endearing features, as she'd hit the ground fairly hard bursting a few constraints here and there. Several spectators were injured in the gentlemanly rush to provide assistance.

As these events unfolded, Judge Cameron with a look of pain induced panic appeared to double over and lose his balance. Flailing his arms to regain steady footing, Cameron grabbed the pot of Chili #8 in a vain attempt to stabilize himself. Staggering back toward the edge of the stand, Frank suffered what witnesses later described as a severe internal reaction to the combined chili and beer he had consumed with such gusto. 

With a sonic boom like sound, according to many observers, Cameron sustained an eruption of incendiary intestinal gas, which ignited one of the dogs still licking beer from the prostrate form of Sally. The poor creature was quickly extinguished by Judge Two's quick utilization of the last pitcher of beer on the judging table. Luckily the dog was only singed, except on the side nearest Cameron, but the local vet said the hair should grow back the same color as it was. Cameron, in the mean time, slumped off the back edge of the stand spattering the pot of Chili #8 on himself, on Sally, and over the growing herd of wannabe rescuers of Sally, who was desperately fending off any number of helping hands. All the other Frisbee Contest dogs bounded over for the sudden chili feast adding further fuel and confusion to what would soon grow into utter pandemonium. Cameron in a semi-comatose state appeared peaceful as he assumed a supine position next to Sally in the grass. Sally glanced at Cameron with a gaze full of heat and passion. Any woman in the crowd would have recognized the danger in that glare, but the gathering of cowboys seemed inflamed as they jostled to save Sally with either mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or go directly to the ever-popular CPR. 

The noxious fumes emanating from Cameron's volcanic blast caused a stampede beginning with the throng milling around Sally. As the toxic vapors spread, the escalating exodus became frenzied flight quickly evolving into a hysterical herd trampling tents, booths, stands, and sundry chili preparation utensils. Toppled chili cook stoves and electrical wiring torn from junction boxes created a conflagration like the tri-county area has not seen before and, perhaps, ever again. Adding to the confusion, the fleeing horde hampered and impeded the arrival of various emergency and law enforcement personnel, who were therefore too late to prevent the most serious of Cameron's injuries as Sally thrashed him soundly about the head and shoulders.

Judge Cameron is recovering in a local hospital and though not in custody, charges may yet be brought. Sally and Judge Two are dating as he did give Sally his jacket, although some think his effort to dry her off with a handful of paper towels was opportunistic at best. Judge One is attempting to become a Food Critic for some yuppie newspaper in the wine country of California.

Submitted by Bob M

Food just doesn't get any better than chili
by Mike Redmond -- Indianapolis Star -- March 4, 1998

Did you see the story about Ruthann Aron, who is charged with a crime most heinous? Among other things, Ruthann - a former political candidate from Montgomery County, Md. - is accused of trying to poison her estranged husband by putting drugs in his chili. I don't care one way or another about the Aron's divorce, but what that woman did to the chili was inexcusable.  Chili as we all know, is a perfect food. It tastes good. It promotes free breathing in seconds. Best of all it contains each of the Basic Food Groups: the Meat Group, the Grease Group and the Set-Fire-To-Your-Mouth Group. I would eat chili five days a week were it not for the stern advice of my physician, who, upon getting a look at me in what we shall call "beach attire", told me to lay off the lard and eat some salad for a change.

All shapes and spices
What's interesting is that no two people seem to have the same idea as to what constitutes a good bowl of chili. Here in the Midwest, chili usually means a spiced-up hamburger-tomato-and-bean soup, sometimes with macaroni. That's what I grew up on, minus the macaroni. Dad, who ruled such things, said macaroni was something "other people" put in chili. Dad ruled the chili because chili is 100 Percent Man Food, owing to its high levels of grease and pepper. If Purina made Man Chow, it would be chili-flavored. Chili also is Man Food because men making chili can indulge their flair of Cooking Theater. My dad did that. Every time he entered the kitchen to make chili, we knew we were in for an afternoon of highly entertaining chopping, mincing, sauteeing, stirring and seasoning, all performed with the kind of abandon that left the kitchen looking like Hurricane Hormel had blown through. As Dad got older, his taste buds went haywire and his chili became more and more incendiary. Dad always had a heavy hand with the Tabasco; as he aged he started using it by the cupful. This made Dad's chili nearly inedible, although we found that if we scattered it around the perimeter of the yard, we never had a problem with owls. After I left home, I became acquainted with real chili, a fiery stew made with meat, spices, peppers, and precious little else. No beans and especially no macaroni.

Salvation in Texas
I remember the first time I ate real chili, down in Texas. It was like finding religion. One taste and I no longer worshiped the false idol of Midwestern chili with beans in it. The meat and spices touched my tongue and in a single, life- changing moment, I knew my place in the universe. Over the years, my faith has been tested. I have sampled turkey chili (weird), Cincinnati chili (weirder) and vegetarian chili (heresy) I have even tried Chasen's chili, a not-very-good recipe from the Hollywood restaurant. (Supposedly, Elizabeth Taylor was so crazy about Chasen's chili that she had it shipped to the location where she was filming Cleopatra. I don't think you can blame the chili for the movie being such a stinker, though.)

Chili deserves more
Anyway, true believer that I am, I keep coming back to real, basic, Texas chili, the perfect food. And that is why I was so distressed to learn about the way Ruthann Aron tried to dispatch her husband with those drugs. What kind of twisted mind would do such a thing to an innocent bowl of chili? I'll bet she put beans and macaroni in it, too. I say throw the book at her.