The Adventures of a
Chili Competition Judge

I'll admit that many mistakes were made last evening. The critical one, however, was made last week when I thought that being a judge for my class's chili cook-off was something that sounded "like fun." Boy, am I regretting that decision today. I'm sorry, body. It was wrong of me to do that to you. So very, very wrong. Now please... just shut up about it.

The first of my many mistakes last night was to eat half a medium pizza before the competition. Sure, that may seem obvious now, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. Which brings me to my second mistake: Pacing. When faced with 6 chilis vying for the Golden Chili (and yes, there was a gold spray painted chili) it's best to not inhale the first two and nibble on the last four. It's grossly unfair to the contestants. I'm a terrible judge.

Many of you will be pleased to hear that the winning chili was vegetarian. Of course, it being the last competitor, after so much meat before it I pretty much would have given high marks to a bowel of air at that point.

With the competition over I was free to drink copious amounts of beer and generally make an ass of myself. What better way to accomplish this than to attempt to impress a table of ladies by taking a bite out of a real live chili pepper. The admiration in their eyes at my obvious manly virility quickly changed to concern at my reddening face before ending at disgust as the sweat pouring from my forehead merged with the gushing tears from my eyes and the rivers of snot from my nose. You'd think they would have at least been impressed with my ability to speak in tongues at such a high pitch. I think one of them even kicked my body as it lay shuddering in the fetal position on the floor while they stepped over me to talk to the guy who was crushing beer cans on his forehead in the living room.

It was around this point that I blacked out.

When I came to I was seated in Tom's Little Havana with a Winston Churchill sized stogey in my mouth debating the existence of God with Harry Potter.

Today, for reasons I'd rather not get into, there is a legal limit of 15 feet in terms of how close you may stand next to me.