As my fellow judges and I were each robbed of a victory to call our own we're bitter. We wanted the glory, not the soggy mouth ashes of a 'shared victory'. So we're going to have to exert our innate superiority over you in a different way.

Your basic prompt is to write a genre piece involving Bad Luck, because fuck the last judges.

Each entry must be submitted to an imaginary Pulp Genre Magazine which you get to invent. You know the kind; Weird Tales, Amazing Stories, True Zombie Romance, whatever, go wild. Don't get too excited, though, this is the rope by which we fully expect you to hang yourselves. The judges are the Editors of your magazine. If you're submitting to Two-Fisted Tales of Terror a one fisted tale of mild unease, you will be rejected with extreme prejudice. The same with True Zombie Slight Crushes - we want to be amazed and astounded but we've got a stonking great circumstantial hate-on for everything, so it better be fucking amazingly astounding. You will be graded on how far down in the Slush Pile your entry ends up, if you're good enough to make it to the slush pile.

Include the name of your Pulp Magazine when you sign up. Otherwise you'll just look at your story and go "This is my submission for 'Crap Emo Bollocks'." Yes, you would.

Oh, and the stories have to deal with anarcho-syndicalism or straight up libertarianism. We don't care how, just so long as it's there.