"I came here today to speak about my dear friend JubTheNub."

Nord reaches inside his pocket to get a small piece of paper, clears his throat and reads:

"He's slowly strolling down the street
His heart so huge you hear it beat
A stack of burgers in his palm
The only thing that keeps him calm

But don't be fooled by a friendly smile
His temper is short, his anger vile
Don't stick around when his patience ends
He killed three men once with bare hands

They served him broccoli, silly mistake
He only eats burgers, sometimes a stake
The fatter, the better, it's in his genes
Their fault, no doubt, for feeding him greens

Remember this though, a word of advice
Be nice to Jubby and Jub will be nice"

Nord puts the piece of paper on the table and leaves.

Nord was sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper when he spotted MrKuku coming out of the building across the street. Nord walked up to MrKuku, introduced himself and started talking quickly but calmly:

"I don't want to take much of your time, as I know you're a busy man, so I'll keep it very short."

"You see, MrKuku, when my grandfather came to these shores, he had a dream. He wanted to open a seafood restaurant and serve the best fish in the country. Not just one restaurant. A chain of restaurants all over the city. He strongly believed this was a land of opportunity, where with enough hard work and persistence you could achieve just about anything."

"He was a great cook, MrKuku. His fish stew was incredible and his baked salmon with bechamel and broccoli was to die for. I still remember his recipe for the bechamel. Put two tablespoons of butter in a saucepan and let it melt. Add two spoons of plain flour and stir until it forms a kind of brown paste. At this point you want to start adding milk. Now, the milk is very important here, so be sure to get this right. You want whole milk and you want it to be room temperature. You will need three cups, but don't add all of it at once. Pour it into the saucepan bit by bit as you continue stirring. Don't go too fast or it will cool down too much and the last thing you want is those lumps forming. Once all of the milk is in the pan you don't stop stirring. You need to bring it to the boil, but be careful as it's so easy to burn and you'll have to start over. In the meantime add some freshly ground nutmeg to the mix. Of course you need to prepare the nutmeg in advance, you don't want to do it while you're stirring the sauce. Once it starts boiling, take the saucepan off the heat, but continue stirring for a couple of minutes. Enjoy the best bechamel ever made."

"But I digress. See, MrKuku, my grandpa never opened that restaurant. The moment he landed in New York, he got distracted by all the other opportunities this city had to offer. Now, I don't share my grandpa's passion for cooking, but I think he was right about the hard work part. So I'm doing my best to make him proud and I got involved in a number of business ventures trying to diversify my income sources. As we all well know, MrKuku, to run a business you need money. I've recently ordered a container of canned tuna which now sits in the city docks warehouse awaiting payment. Do you like tuna, MrKuku? Apologies, that's a silly question. Who wouldn't enjoy a tuna, mayo and cucumber sandwich? I've heard some people like to add peanut butter as well, but that's not for my taste buds. Ah, remind me to give you my grandpa's recipe for homemade mayonnaise..."

"Where was I? Ah, yes, the tuna. See, I need to pay for the shipment and the dock officials are getting really nervous about it sitting in their warehouse for so long. Now, it so happens that at the moment I'm having a little problem with liquidity. People not paying on time, some bad investments, you know how it is. So every little helps."

"But I don't want to steal your precious time, MrKuku. All I'm saying is it would be really great if you could finalise this competition soon. Don't get me wrong, I'm not fishing for a prize for my entry. I'd just like to see the verdict so that we have some closure and I can adjust my business plans accordingly."

I've decided to write about my friend, Colonel_Ives.

He is a cannibal. He had tuberculosis and was being sent to an old hospital on an island where they believed the fresh and clean air would heal him but thought he would probably die since his condition was getting worse everyday. On his way to the hospital, he was guided by a native American who told him a story about a Wendigo, which is a man who chomps on another to steal his strength (or strenght not 100% sure on this). Downside? He gets bloody cursed and is never full. 

Ives decided, 'fuck it', and chanced his arm. He killed his guide in a show of appreciation for telling him the story and not only was he healed, he was stronger, faster and invincible, apparently. 

Seems pretty far-fetched, right? WRONG. This happened in the 19th century in Sierra Nevada (in California). The proof is in the pudding as they say, or in this case, in a really old Goomba from Detroit. 

Thank you for listening. 

Great entry, MoralCompass.

Let's have close of business tonight for the final entries. 

Rebecca realized that she had yet to share her story with the world, and so she made her way from another discussion over to where MrKuku was waiting. Hearing that today was the final possible day to get entries in, Rebecca quickly made the choice to do what she does best - bullshit. 

"My story is a tragic tale about a girl name lucky. Some would say that this is a story about a girl name lucky, but perhaps her name should have been unlucky. You see, this girl was put in a position that wasn't requested or desired, and she would cry-cry-cry with her lonely heart. She kept thinking, there was too much in her life, and thus her tears would certainly fall at night." 

Rebecca paused for the jazzy vocals of, "Oh wah, ah, ah, o-ahaaa" to play in her head, a smile on her face. 

"But then one day, war broke out, and there we truly learned why this girl was called lucky. She was able to climb into a counter in the kitchen and hide from the terrible awful no-good-people who wanted to see her dead. While she was hiding, the masses of the world would whisper amongst themselves saying things such as, "Oh she's so lucky, she's a star, that person there can't shoot that far. She is missing, they want to end her life, so I hope this girl survives the night." 

Rebecca paused for the jazzy vocals of, "Oh wah, ah, ah, o-ahaaa" to play in her head, a smile on her face. 

"So there you have it, a story about a girl named lucky, in the end." 

I've checked with the Competition Commission, and was informed by Wellerman that we cannot accept entries after MoralCompass's.

We recognise that this may be frustrating and invite those entrants deemed non-entrants to contact me privately to discuss recompense.

I wrapping this contest up, let me rejoice in the fact that there was only a single fatality, and not directly linked to the contest. 

Proof that competivie writing is once again safe, well managed, and profitable for bona fida entrants.  We note that TinyTim entered despite suggesting he might, and that Goku seemed to have nothing to say for himself.  Ditto Marston.

We mourn KieranMoore who almost uniquely for that lineage died in a war, though obviously failed to make his mark.  RIP, bud. 

I did not enter, despite you claiming that I did. 

I feared for my life. I've heard terrible things about writing contests that have happened previously, granted only the ones that you have been involved with in some capacity. 

It's sad to hear that there was a fatality during this competition, once again. I think we would be wrong to assume that it might not have been in some way related to this competition and your involvement MrKuku. 

A sad, sad event that did not live up to expectations. 

How will you ever come back from this failure? 

TinyTim - what was the bloodiest contest in history? 

I'm trying not to be impatient, but I still have not received any portion of the twenty million in prizes. I realize that I did not submit an entry (trying to be safe in these dangerous times), but it was my understanding that an entry was not needed to be declared a winner. Please deposit my winnings into my bank account as soon as possible.

Could we have an extension to the competition? Just one fatality seems low and is rather embarrassing for everyone involved. 

TinyTim - *everyone* knows BY FAR the bloodiest contest was Lincoln_Lawyer's 

Congratulations on your lottery windfall MrKuku, will any generosity be extended to non-participanting supporters of your competition, such as myself? I wouldn't expect that this would affect your agreed re-payment plan with TheBeast in any way, so you've got to do something with that money. 

Duchess, I've sent you $6m.  Is this OK? 

Let's do 12 and we'll shake hands and never speak again. Sound good, MrKuku?

Duchess, just to put it his to bed, I've sent you my last $14m.  So you've had the full prize pot.  Happy? 

I'm glad we've been able to work something out. My congratulations to all of the participants here today. 

Duchess, an accounting error meant you erroneously have $15m of my cash.  Please don't spend it.

We can discuss this later 

Rebecca stood there listening to the words around her, but the one phrase kept playing through her mind. 

I've checked with the Competition Commission, and was informed by Wellerman that we cannot accept entries after MoralCompass's.

 Words had failed her. Her mouth was agape, hands moving while trying to get the proper words to come out of her mouth, but there was nothing firing along the nerves that were needed to get the proper communication across. 

Incoherent noises finally started sputtering out of her mouth, hands still flailing, fingers pointing, fists shaking, the whole shebang. It was the oddest tantrum that one had had on the streets in at least twenty minutes. 

Pulling herself together, Rebecca nodded her head. "Well then, I suppose the real prize was knowing that I am the best story teller to grace our world, and I can live with that."