Forty-One Forty-One’s was the name of a bar in the Garden District that I had learned about from an article covering the top pickup spots in the country. It was in the July, 1985 issue of Playboy Magazine, but if you have that issue, the article is now for novelty purposes only, as most of the hot spots have moved or closed. The author rated two bars in each of twenty cities based on the ease of opportunity for short-term romantic liaisons. It also included useful information about the respective dress codes, specialty drinks, peak hours, et cetera.

After seventeen days of uncertainty, thirty-three miners trapped nearly fifty thousand miles below the Chilean surface were reported to be alive and well. Although it could take up to four months for the miners to be freed through a proposed 68 cm hole, they will be able to receive food, water and medicine via some sort of bucket and rope system, I’d imagine. With typical surface-dweller arrogance, tons of rescue equipment from around the world was rushed to the site. This being done with the assumption that the miners would want to be brought back to the surface of a world that once tried to bury them.

While miners make it possible to shod a horse or throw a Chinese star, ungrateful surface-dwellers pay them very little attention unless they are dead or dying—although in fairness to the surface-dwellers, the miners don’t exactly make it easy to come and see them because they’re hiding underground and whatnot.

Please Read: When I began writing this story, there was a report that the gunman claimed that two hostages had been shot, but there was no confirmation from the police, or information on the severity of the injuries. I wrote this after making a decision that I wouldn’t post it if any hostage was killed. When I hit the publish button, the police were reporting that the gunman had been killed, but had not mentioned any hostage deaths. I incorrectly surmised that the omission meant that all of the hostages were alive. When I checked back after an hour or so, the report that I read said that one hostage was in critical condition.

Because nothing is more important in my universe than making the Smokies better and more interesting, I’ve been playing around with the idea of commissioning a pianist to co-write and perform a Smokies theme song. My vision is for a video crew to record the performer singing the song, and post it every week as an opening to the Smokies.

After seven bloody years, with the loss of 4,415 of the finest individuals that this country could produce, the last combat soldiers leave Iraq. However, 35,000 to 50, 000 non-combat troops will remain.

Is this the end of the war? A regime toppled. A rebellion crushed. Is the peace sustainable? Was it all for naught? What does the future hold for this fledgling nation? Your thoughts here.

Militant Rubber Ducky burst into a wordy explosion of yellow rubber shrapnel upon learning that a three-judge panel of the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals extended the California ban on gay marriage indefinitely. Although this posting could be seen as a lazy way of publishing the update without writing an entire article, MRD’s comment really did an excellent job of summing up the wad of spit that is gathering in my mouth for the ban’s backers:

Last night, President Obama weighed in on the controversial Cordoba House mosque project. When I read his remarks this morning, two things struck me. The first is the speed at which this Administration calculates their position and speaks out on controversial topics like this. This issue only came to light in the media in early May and we already have remarks from the President in mid-August. The other thing that surprised me is that, for once, I’m in complete agreement with the Barack Obama.

I have one irrational fear: socialists sharks. I usually keep that information a secret to prevent my enemies (the socialists) from exploiting my weakness to their advantage, but I know that online shark attacks are extremely rare. Actually, on-land shark attacks are also pretty rare, which is what makes this an irrational fear, as I really don’t swim in the ocean. However, if I was a professionals surfer who frequented the waters of San Onofre beach in California, my fear would slide from the irrational to the rational column. I suppose there is the possibility that I could master my fear, but at the present moment, I just can’t see a path that could lead me from soiling myself while watching this video to becoming Chuck Patterson, Master of All Sharks:

With Judge Vaughn Walker’s landmark decision to reverse California’s Proposition 8 on the books, I was hoping to start a dialogue about my own state’s “Florida Marriage Amendment” of 2008, better known as Amendment 2.

While Proposition 8 seemed to generate more headlines than Amendment 2 in the days leading up to their simultaneous passage in November of 2008, Florida’s law was actually a bit more restrictive (in that it didn’t allow civil unions) and was passed by a larger margin. Also, while there seems to be an increasingly bright ray of hope for homosexual Californians, Florida’s anti-gay constitutional amendment is still firmly in place.

Yesterday, I was listening to the news in the jeep that my mom thinks makes me look adventurous, and the announcer is reporting the various goings on in Space. More specifically, she was reporting on the one area of space where we (Earthlings) actually are: the International Space Station. So, because we have nothing else going on in the galaxy than here and on that space station, I am forced to follow a story about astronauts—or cosmonauts for you Commies—trying to fix a pump.

Image via Orlando Sentinel

As you recall, the theme for Micro-Fiction Roundup XXXII was The Musical Instrument. You were allowed to write anything you wanted as long as it dealt with musical instruments. Sounds easy, right? You even had an extended deadline, a whole extra two hours. I embedded a Muddy Waters Video and posted artwork by Edgar Degas or somebody of one of the Beatles playing a guitar. Yet with all of that effort, there was a paltry four submissions, including my own. I have one question for you lazy micro-fictioneers: Why do you all hate BJonston?

I’m sitting at Costco eating a hot dog and drinking a soda, both of which I was able to purchase in combination for the low price of $1.50 plus tax. A swarthy kid, wearing a cheap suit and tie, tentatively approaches me. I notice him out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t look up from the book I’m reading. I seldom have quiet times at work, so I don’t invite interruptions. I can feel his eyes drilling holes into the side of my head, but I maintain my discipline and ignore him.

Since Micro-Fiction Roundup’s inception, we have made significant gains on other major sporting franchises and monarchs. While the NFL is still ahead of us with Super Bowl XLIV (forty-four for novices), they have only had one event to our thirty-two in the last 18 months. If all goes well, we will overtake professional football in number of championship events within the year. Ultimate Fighting is at CXVI, but unlike the NFL, they have more frequent events. Still I am confident that if we persevere, we shall overtake them in the next two years. We have completely eclipsed the Bourbon succession of King Louis, which only made it to XIX.

Anyone sick of the advertising theme yet? I’m not, but I think that other than MFR (which deadlines at 200 AM), this will be the last piece that you see from me about advertising for at least a fortnight—maybe even a castlenight. However, in the spirit of my theme of the week, I decided to re-title all of your monikers to sound like products, services and consumables that one might see advertised. No need to thank me. I had fun doing it. Also, here are your awards: