Today is going to be a hallmark day in the world of the Mafia, because this is the day where a vampire stands up for the humans of the world and says enough. Edward wouldn't have done this, neither would Dracula. But here I am, standing in defiance to the world and saying that we are no longer going to be scared by the threat of ever-lurking death for a few simple words.

These people in their ivory castles, they look down on us writers as if they can judge us over anything other than the words we put from pen to paper. But I say, why? Why do they get to do all of the judgement in this world? That's why I am hereby creating my very own semi-competitive writing competiton with a committee of four very open judges, not the fearful loons who host the fully competitive drivel.

If you would like to be one of these judges, please message me. This is important, currently everyone is too scared to take part.

So who's ready to join me? Who's not afraid? 

The first-ever semi-competitive mafia writing competition will be about this:

You hate garlic. Write a story about how you would rid the world of garlic. 

Please hoist up your writing proudly and make it at least three paragraphs, anything shorter and I will rip up the paper and eat it. This is semi-competitive but we're not animals. Please have it done within the next five days, the winner will receive their very own quad agents who have decided that they want to help the mafia, they've come to me and offered their services and they will work for you if you win.

He heard shots nearby. This was getting dangerous, but Nosferatu would NOT yield.

The first place prize will receive these four agents + ten of those golden credits we all love so much. 

Second place will receive five credits. I have to go now, please leave your responses here at the drop-off location, and be quick about it, I can hear someone watching us. 

You're cutting it awfully close there Nosferatu... In the past, dozens of writing competitions in these grand streets have killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands. Although.. Most of them were competitive while this is only semi-competitive huh. I hope to see dozens, if not hundreds of competitors come out to these streets to showcase their writing abilities for... Beef decides to look at the prompt about hating garlic and then back at the pale, Romani Nosferatu. It disgusted him.

"Garlic.. I see" He said as he already heard shots being popped off. He was sure murders were already commencing due to a writing competition being launched. It was sickening how many bodies would stack up on these competitions.

"I think when I am feeling a little better from my illness, I shall partake in such a competition, I hope to see competition stiff and rigorous, or something of that sort. You're very generous.. Also, you look a little pale and sick..  My grandmother always said garlic and crosses of Jesus Christ helped with illness"

Jeffy shuffles out into the streets carrying a fold-up table under one arm and a wooden stake in his opposite hand. After scanning his surroundings looking for bats or anything else suspicious, he sets up his table and hangs a sign in the front...

Semi-Competitive Writing Competition Bookie Station

A man wanders up to the table and begins looking over the papers scattered around and betting slips which just seem to be laying everywhere. The cash, however, is neatly stacked, counted, and bound...

"Good day, my fellow legitimate businessmen and women. I thought I would provide a useful service in light of this sudden influx of activity on the streets! I will be taking bets based on the following categories, and may consider others that are suggested if it seems like a fair wager".

All wagers are subject to a minimum of 10 entrants. Non-entrants may NOT be considered as part of the minimum entrants requirement.

Contest Winner: 2 to 1

Contest Winner/Runner up (Win/Place in either order): 4 to 1

First to Semi-Die: 5 to 1

Most Likely to Win as a Non-Entrant: 10 to 1

"Pick a Number" - total number of times the Competition Commission is invoked prior to the end of the competition. Each number costs $50,000. Payout will be 75% of the pot.

Disclaimer: I may or may not follow up on payouts. I reserve the right to cheat.

The carrions are already out, but their attempt to pick at our carcasses will gather no meat. For we are filled to the brim with bones, mainly in the spine department. Something that someone like Jeffy, in his refusal to take part in the semi-competitive competition due to obvious fear of maiming or worse, lacks. But as I am of the forgiving sort, I will not let this ruin our day and instead take the lead by being the first to enter the competition.

Do I care that this is a bad look for the entire thing and could perhaps put us in jeopardy from entities of a higher order? Do I worry that in doing this I ruin the credibility of the entire event? Yes, of course, without fear, are we even human? I mean, I'm not a human, but if I were then I would be constantly fearful. I will not let that stop me.

Garlic, and how to remove it:

The first step in removing garlic is to take it all, which is exactly what he had done. He went to every grocery store, home, and even business that may be storing the stuff and shoved it all into his pockets. He was so filled with garlic that the smell of him would cause most people to pass out.

Then he walked to the harbor and dumped it all into the ocean. The garlic was no more, as it was wet and no one would be willing to eat wet garlic. The only issue was that now all of the fish and creatures of the sea would constantly smell like garlic, so there was no more going to his favorite seafood restaurant. This was a pretty big drawback.

Damn.

Okay, this is the end of the writing. Competition, please smile on me.

Look, did this entry meet the maximum requirements for length? No. Did it answer the prompt's question? Yes, I'd like to think so. Will it win the grand prize and ruin the entire event for everyone else that enters? Most likely, but I am not one of the judges, of which we have at least one now so that everyone can rest easy that semi-competitive judgements will be available to all who enter.

At least one man did not fear the potential of death. I hope more now come forward. Please, we need more entries. Thank you.

UPDATE:

Our first guest judge is Ronnie! He may be submitting his own entry to the competition, but he will remain completely unbiased and keep his eye on the mission when judging himself. He is a long-time member of the competitive writing circuit and his family line has judged many of the competitions in the big leagues. I am hoping this will bring some respect to the semi-competitive grouping and bring in many more people who want to give this mobster writing thing a try.

Welcome Ronnie to the judge's table. 

He was racked with guilt, his mind racing a mile per minute. Why did he put himself in this position? He was immortal, there was so much life left to live and he could have just waited a few thousand years for the commission to finally run out of power. 

"We must go. Now."

There was only one way out of this, to escape the threats he had been receiving every single day for the past twenty-four hours. He had to open a portal to Hell itself, the only place where these people had less of an influence-- barely. Summoning up all of the power that he had left, he created what would be a small opening to the other side, only available for a few moments and then never again. With his last few seconds on earth, he quickly scribbled an excuse for why he had to cut the competition short.

"They did not like this one bit. Semi-competitive, competitive, it doesn't fucking matter. They come for us all. Do not enter this, do not even come near the ballots. Leave now. There's nowhere for you to escape."

He slipped into the mass of darkness and as it closed let out one final whisper, one last goodbye. Then he was gone.

There was nothing left for anyone here.

I told you, goddammit. I fucking told you.

I hope this serves as a hard lesson to all those thinking they can ignore or dismiss the wrath and will of the Competition Commission. No one is out of their reach. Not me, not you, not even the undead.

Very presumptuous of Nosferatu to think that The Commission has less influence in Hell. Where do you think their central office is located?

JeffyWizzbang

I've heard rumors of an office in the infernal 12th street public toilets located in the second circle of hell. These rumors are as of yet unconfirmed but I am eagerly awaiting a message from Nosferatu from beyond the grave.

My top spirit medium is on the case.

Small update: my spirit medium says she has trouble contacting Nosferatu. She said that this is why it is taking such a large amount of time to do so, and why the bill is rather, uhm, steep (she is paid by the hour).

I was assured that if I gave her an additional premium (a spiritual financial injection, as she calls it, which strengthens her ability to communicate with the infernal pits of Hell).

I am eagerly awaiting results, and so is my wallet.

Another small update: I am no longer attempting to make contact with the late Nosferatu. This is a decision I made myself and not one influenced or forced upon me by outside actors through an act of coercion.

It appears that Nosferatu is still among us, but trapped in a parallel dimension. While visiting the 12 Street Public Toilets the other day, I sat down to do my business when I heard an awful moaning coming from the end stall. The voice sounded ethereal, but I could make out the words "Ouch! I'm stuck!".

Was Nosferatu stuck in the walls of the 12th Street Public Toilets? Or perhaps in the ceiling, like an undead ceiling cat watching the antics of the Public Toilet patrons? Nosferatu was a known vampire, so it is unlikely he would have perished completely. The Competition Commission is known to be ruthless, but I've never heard of them using wooden stakes. They are not monsters, for fucks sake. Like Nosferatu. He was a monster.

Anyhow, I'm not sure where we go from here. Do we need an exorcism? Do we just ignore it and let Nosferatu's trapped spirit become part of the 12th Street Public Toilet amenities, much like the glory hole, but with much less ejaculation? Or is there some other way we can free him? I don't do this stuff usually, so I'm not sure how it works. Any help would be appreciated.

Should I run a writing competition?