Monday, July 14, 2008

Saturday, June 21, 2008


This is an example of "Men at Work" and "Sabermetrics" gone totally skewackus.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Rest In Peace...

It is with regret that we report the passing of Lord John Marbury, Earl of Croy, all the formal dignifications, honorariums, and etc., due to complications resulting from springtime allergies. Autopsy reports confirm that the deceased drowned in the ample snouty founts of his own post-nasal drip. Police suspect no human foul play, but are keeping a sharp eye on the flora and fauna.

Lord John's solicitor has already conducted a reading of the will, which resulted in no small measure of controversy. His bereaved heirs are said to lament the fact that only a few pounds sterling remain. It appears Marbury's once substantial estate had been laid waste in his final days by the considerable financial outlays required in the fight to keep histamine at bay.

The Earl is survived by his wife and son, who, regrettably, are stricken with the same affliction.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made at

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Exotic indeed...

I admit that "I am powerless over Le Petit Ecolier, and that my life has become unmanageable." My name is Lord John, and I am an extra-dark-chocolate-biscuit-aholic.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


I'm feeling a little dramatic about the state of my seasonal allergies today (total breathing system shutdown in concert with itchy eyes that are desperately trapped beneath puffy pink swollen-shut eyelid piglets). So, in their honor:

Doctor: Lord Marbury, why don't we sit for a moment.

(sneezes) No, Doctor. Just tell me. Give it to me straight.

Doctor: Well, we got the lab results back,'s...not good.

Me: (dramatically bites fist, then thinks better of it when post-nasal drip gets in the way) I knew it. I just knew something was really wrong. It's appendicitis of the lymphatic allergy cortex, isn't it.

Doctor: Um, no. I don't even know what that is. I'm sorry, Lord John, it's...hayfever...and it's...TERMINAL.

Me: (sneezes; blows nose with tragically beautiful and sonorous tone akin to that of a french horn)

Doctor: Oh, umm,...and your ex-wife has come back from the grave, seduced the entire hospital staff, and has vowed to kill you...before you, you know, heads up on that front as well, I guess.

Business idea...

Who's with me? I think overhead is going to be pretty low ("Hey there, farmer - I see you have some horses. Can I get my hands on some of that kerplop?"). It's renewable. There's always going to be demand. We could get away with an R&D budget that is next to nothing. I think this business opportunity is smelling good...
And if it's being sold in one market at $0.50, and for $1.00 in another, we got an opportunity for some arbitrage. I've always wanted to be able to tell strangers sitting next to me on long plane flights that "I dabble in equine fecal arbitrage." Classy, no?

Friday, April 25, 2008

Years of training...wasted.

You are listening to the sound of expendability. Old Jimmy Taylor might as well be singing "Taps" out of that bullhorn while standing over the fresh and open grave that holds the mortal coil that was my drumming talent. All those summer days in the bonus room pounding out Dave Weckl licks and trying in vain to unlock the cryptographic sequence of David Garibaldi's left hand snare work...Apparently "Dungeons and Dragons" would have been a better use of my time.

Sunday, March 30, 2008