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Category » General « @ Henry the Adequate
My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero
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  • Status Report

    Posted on October 7th, 2007 ben 7 comments

    The more astute of you may have noticed that Henry has not been updated since June. Or it could be I am over-estimating the intelligence of my readership. Both of you.

    Anyway, this is just a short note to let you know that Henry is not dead. Not yet at least.

    It’s just that sometimes us brilliant writerer guys get blocked up through over-exertion, like a dunny at an eataholics orgy. Please rest assured that I am working on a new post as we speak. I guarantee that it will be brilliant and funny, or that it will contain some words separated by spaces.

    Well, most of the words will be seperated byspaces.

  • The Case

    Posted on June 4th, 2007 Ben 1 comment

    “Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Well, it’s nice to know even in this weird dream-remembering my sister is unchanged. Except for her name. And the other thing. I am prepared to face the other thing now, but for a small voice somewhere in the wilderness of my shattered mind.

    It cries out, urgently, this voice, as though there is something really really important I have forgotten. “Henry!” it calls, “Henry! What about the case? The Case Henry!”

    But I am gone… gone…. gone….

    “Henry!”

    “Huh?”

    “You going to help me?” she asks, pensively. She? Who?

    “Ice?” It is Ice. It is two weeks ago. This is the case. Damn you, small voice. I was sooo damn ready to face the other thing too. “Say, did I ever give you that dollar?”

    “Uh, no,” she says with a slightly shifty look, as though she is lying or something, “But that doesn’t matter right now. What about the case?”

    Yes, the case. What was the case about again? Uh… I lean back in my leather office chair, wisely putting on an air of deep contemplation, while carefully considering a suitable response. Because, you know, it is kinda embarrassing when you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

    “What’s up Henry, you look a bit…” and she pauses as though searching for a suitable word. Studious perhaps. Intense. Wise. Thoughtful. “… constipated.”

    “No no,” I explain, dismissively, “I am Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero. Superheros do not get constipated.” Well except for that one time, but that’s a whole different story - a story of treachery and deceit, and evil constipatory powers. (Damn you, Bees Knees)

    “Anyway,” I continue, ignoring the look she is currently giving me. It is an extremely familiar look, so I am going to assume it is something akin to respect. Yes, that is probably it. “I am on the case.”

    “Have you found them yet?”

    Found them. Them? Stall, Henry. “Yes, I am on the case. The case is underneath me, uneasily supporting my weight, on the verge of cracking, at which point it will spill all of its contents all over the floor. I am afraid that when the case bursts open, everybody will be able to see your dirty laundry.” OK, perhaps I have taken the analogy a bit too far, but, you know, stalling. What the hell was this case about anyway?

    “Great.” To my surprise she seems relieved. “I really need those knickers.”

  • Capped Again

    Posted on May 31st, 2007 Ben 8 comments

    To recap, because I seem to have become somewhat distracted of late, my name is Henry the Adequate and I am a superhero. A magnificent superhero with ultra-xray vision, the strength of quite a lot of men, a rampaging flamethrower embedded in my forearm, and an enormous penis.

    Ego. An enormous ego.

    I live in a place that is very much like any other place, only less interesting. I fight crime. I pursue evil wherever it may hide, like a great big pursuing thing.

    But on to the recap.

    First there was the phone call:
    “Just be there Henry, you moron.”

    And so, I met my sister for lunch:
    “They’re close Henry,” she hisses, as though she is a snake of some kind. Or an evil super villain who is rattled and really quite desperate. Or a rattled snake. One should not rule out the snake theory at this point. “I can’t go back. Not.. ” And here she pauses slightly, shudders, and rubs vigorously on what I sincerely hope is some kind of concealed weapon on the inside of her thigh… “… there…”

    And then we are fleeing:
    “Don’t worry Dizzy,” I reassure as we pause to assess the situation, “I brought backup.” And here he is now. “Mr Enthusi…. ” But I cannot finish, because I am currently writhing on the ground like somebody who has just been shot by a kind of nerve-rending ray gun designed to entirely disable the target.

    “Backup’s here, Henry,” remarks Mr Enthusiasm.

    “Henry…. remember your promise Henry…” she gasps, at which point my brain explodes… explodes in a fiery eruption of images, sensations, alien memories, and cheesy desires!

    And her words. “Remember, Henry,” she gasps, again, “Remember.” As if these words are some kind of trigger a raging torrent of unfamiliar things invades me, pressing in on all sides, crushingly, until I cannot breathe, can only struggle hopelessly against the inevitable outcome.

    And the memories. Unremembered. Unknown. Alien. Yet I am almost certain now that they are authentic, somehow. But how? I fear the answers, not only for what they may hold, but also for the manner in which they might be discovered - for it seems that my only choice is to surrender to the tide, immerse myself in it, hoping that I will emerge whole and integrated, and with understanding.

    And so it begins, at some time in the not so distant past, in a room that is immediately familiar, yet also entirely unremembered, dressed in regular street clothes, unremarkable. Regular, like an unadorned chocolate shake. Un-super. Absence of an embedded flamethrower seeming somehow right, and normal, and, well, me.

    I lean back, take a long drag on my cigarette and smile confidently. “It’s time.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Sure I’m sure. Get your gun, Annie.”

    “Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Well, it’s nice to know even in this weird dream-remembering my sister is unchanged. Except for her name. And the other thing. I am prepared to face the other thing now, but for a small voice somewhere in the wilderness of my shattered mind.

    It cries out, urgently, this voice, as though there is something really really important I have forgotten. “Henry!” it calls, “Henry! What about the case? The Case Henry!”

    But I am gone.

  • Seven Weird Things About Henry

    Posted on May 29th, 2007 Ben 12 comments

    My name is Henry the Adequate, and I have been tagged, dammit. Thanks a lot Laura.

    1. I destroyed the multiverse, but that’s ok because our own universe is safe in my hall closet. (Actually I should save that last bit for item two, so I don’t have to write as much)
    2. … but that is ok, because our own universe is safe in my hall closet.
    3. I insult my readers but they keep coming back. Weirdos.
    4. I got laid.
    5. My enemies consist of giant mutant chickens, robotic dinosaurs, and Gummi Bears. That last one is Smilesr4u’s fault.
    6. I have a flamethrower embedded in my forearm. Ok, that’s not weird - quite normal actually - but am running out of ideas.
    7. I have an enormous superheroic brain, but can’t seem to remember simple things like, well, this.

    Stay tuned for my next meme, tentatively entitled “Seven Weird Things About You, Moron.”

  • The Great Battles of Henry #5

    Posted on May 27th, 2007 Ben 6 comments

    I lean back, take a long drag on my cigarette - odd in that I have never smoked - and smile confidently. “It’s time.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Sure I’m sure. Get your gun, Annie.” I suggest, or suggested, in this memory. Whose memory? It seems like one of my own, yet contradicts so many others. How could this be? But the memories continue…

    “Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Well, it’s nice to know even in this weird dream-remembering my sister is unchanged. Except for her name. And the other thing.

    The other thing is disturbing. The other thing is… well it is too much for me to face right now, so instead I will tell you about the time I crossed paths with the evil Doctor Distracto!


    It was several years ago. Back in the good old days, when one could walk safely down the street without being incinerated by some flamethrower-wielding maniac. I had just finished incinerating a couple of very suspicious looking characters with my embedded flamethrower. That, I concluded, would teach them not to go walking down the street like some kind of guys.

    Anyway, I was on the trail of a group of rampaging gummi bears who had been terrorizing the city with their Gummi Berry Juice and their girl scout cookies and their evil slave master thingies. I stalked confidently, like a confidently stalking superhero, certain that I must be very very close. Yes, indeed, right there - disappearing around that corner - a furry tail that must surely belong to one of my quarry. Or one of those playmate bunnies. I like playmate bunnies, because they are so fluffy.

    I also like easter bunnies, because they are totally hot.

    I approached the corner swiftly yet carefully, darting from the cover of a small vehicle of some kind, to a telephone box, to an industrial bin, aware of the acrid scent of waste, of rotten vegetables and sweat, using my superhuman senses to probe the area for any sign of…

    And there they were, down an alley to my left. But who was the tall man with the green hat? The Gummi Bears congregated about him as though he were some kind of leader. Could this be the Grand Slave Lord, at last?

    Only one way to find out. “Halt, evil villains!” I suggested, as though asking them to do something, such as making a cup of tea or going down the shop for milk, or halting like the evil villains they are.

    The old man turned to me, waved his arm vaguely at a fly, and remarked that these, in fact, were not the droids… I mean, Gummi Bears I was looking for. “These are not the Gummi Bears you are looking for, ” he said.

    “Ha! You cannot fool me with your silly mind control tricks, old man, for I am Henry the Adequate, superhero! And I do not succumb so easily to the distractorly wiles of you, ” And here I paused for effect, just to let all present recognize the clever brilliance of my magnificent brain. “No, I do not succumb so easily, Doctor Distracto!”

    He smiled, so I could tell he was really worried. “But Henry,” he said, and I could feel the naked energy emanating from him, as he turned all of his mental powers to maximum in an attempt to overcome my resistance with the pure force of his enormous will. “I think I just spied some supervillains sort of over there some place doing some stuff that you should stop them from doing.”

    “Nice try, Doctor Distracto,” I laughed confidently, though in truth I did feel the tug of his powers at my brain, like an irresistible urge to succumb. But I did not succumb. I am no succumberizer. (This post brought to you by the word “succumb”, and the number two) Heroically, disdainfully, I cast aside his assault. “Now, foul creature, prepare to be incinera….” But what was that? “Holy cow - a shiny thing!”

    Using my super speed I grabbed the shiny thing before anybody else could. Not that there was anybody else present, as far as I could remember. “It’s mine! All mine!” I danced out of the alley, joy in my heart, a song on my lips.

    “Nice work, Doctor Distracto.” said a squeaky voice from someplace behind me. But I did not have time to worry about some kid’s vocalizing problems right now.

    “Wasn’t me,” said the voice of some kind of elderly chap, with an audible shrug. But I did not have time to worry about some old guy’s joint problems. I mean, he really should get those noisy shoulders looked at, but what did I care. I had a shiny thing now. A shiny thing! A shiny thing!

    “Hey! Watch it!”

    “Sorry.” I seemed to have bumped into somebody. A female somebody, with breasts and stuff. I wondered if she…

    “Henry?” Perhaps this was somebody I knew. Or just a fan. Or something. In any case I made a mental note to begin at the face next time.

    “Oh, Ice. Hi.”

    “You got that dollar you owe me Henry?”

    “Uh…” Bugger. I gave her my shiny thing. Sob.

  • The Beginning of the Middle of the End

    Posted on May 24th, 2007 Ben 4 comments

    My name is Henry the Adequate, superhero, and I am currently writhing on the ground like somebody who has just been shot by a kind of nerve-rending ray gun designed to entirely disable the target.

    “Backup’s here, Henry,” remarks Mr Enthusiasm, cradling a kind of nerve-rending ray gun in the crook of his arm. He laughs, like a treacherous traitor who has just betrayed me somehow. To my left I hear my sister shrieking through the same agony that tears my own body to shreds of living pain.

    “Henry…. remember your promise Henry…” she gasps, at which point my brain explodes in a fiery eruption of images, sensations, alien memories, and cheesy desires. Oh for a large pizza with the lot right now.

    If only. But I have neither the time, nor the presence of mind, nor the physical capability to order delicious cheesy comestibles right now on account of aforementioned agony and exploding neurons and other nasty sensations that I won’t go into on account of them also being quite embarrassing. Let’s just say that I will soon be requiring a change of underwear and then move hastily onto the next paragraph in the no doubt forlorn hope that it might be better than this one…

    Images. Sensations. Alien memories. Alien? Then why do they feel so natural.

    I, at some time in the not so distant past, in a room that is immediately familiar, yet also entirely unremembered, dressed in regular street clothes, unremarkable. Regular, like an unadorned chocolate shake. Un-super. Absence of an embedded flamethrower seeming somehow right, and normal, and, well, me.

    I shudder. Not the “I” in these memories - that other I, in agony, writing, desperately, reliving impossible pasts. Shuddering at the mere thought of un-superness. Meanwhile in the memory dream I lean back, take a long drag on my cigarette - odd in that I have never smoked - and smile confidently. “It’s time.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Sure I’m sure. Get your gun, Annie.”

    “Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Well, it’s nice to know even in this weird dream-remembering my sister is unchanged. Except for her name. And the other thing.

    Stay tuned for the other thing.

  • The Post With the Unexpected Title

    Posted on April 28th, 2007 Ben 6 comments

    My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero.

    Furtively, using all of my powers of sneakiness, I slide into the booth and check out the menu, noting with a deep sense of satisfaction that my arrival has gone completely unnoticed. This is because I am an expert at camouflage, and subterfuge, and not-being-noticed-erfuge.

    It may also be because all present are busy checking out my sister. And not for any of the usual reasons. “Shut up Henry,” she suggests, although I am yet to speak.

    “Dizzy, you look like crap.” And she does. Gone the skin tight black leather evil-villain outfit that accentuates her extreme femaleness. Instead a plain dress, slightly ill-fitting in a manner which suggests it was designed with exactly that effect in mind. Her hair a matted mess. Traces of some kind of sludge. And the smell… “I think I’ll have the oysters. You?”

    She brushes the menu aside like some kind of unimportant thing. “They’re close Henry,” she hisses, as though she is a snake of some kind. Or an evil super villain who is rattled and really quite desperate. Or a rattled snake. One should not rule out the snake theory at this point. “I can’t go back. Not.. ” And here she pauses slightly, shudders, and rubs vigorously on what I sincerely hope is some kind of concealed weapon on the inside of her thigh… “… there…”

    “Back?” I am beginning to suspect that something is up. Perhaps she ate some bad oysters and is now hallucinating. “Actually, I’m gonna have the pasta instead.” Just to be on the safe side, you know.

    “We have to…” But she does not finish the thought, and it seems apparent that she is suffering from a serious overdose of agitation germs. Or some other nasty medical thingy. Instead her eyes are now fixated on something over my left shoulder.

    “What?” I look in the direction of her gaze, which seems to be near the entrance - perhaps behind those official looking guys with the badges and the guns - but can see nothing untoward…

    “Run!” And she is leaping with an agility that speaks of constant physical training coupled with an urgency that goes beyond mere desperation, and I follow because she is my sister. Possibly insane, but still my sister. There is a discharge as of an energy weapon of some kind, and a large section of the plate glass window vaporizes, and we are through the gap, and around the corner before you can say “Don’t worry dizzy - I brought backup.”

    “Don’t worry Dizzy,” I reassure as we pause to assess the situation, “I brought backup.” And here he is now. “Mr Enthusi…. ” But I cannot finish, because I am currently writhing on the ground like somebody who has just been shot by a kind of nerve-rending ray gun designed to entirely disable the target.

    “Backup’s here, Henry,” remarks Mr Enthusiasm, cradling a kind of nerve-rending ray gun in the crook of his arm. He laughs, like a treacherous traitor who has just betrayed me somehow. To my left I hear my sister shrieking through the same agony that tears my own body to shreds of living pain.

    “Henry…. remember your promise Henry…” she gasps, at which point my brain explodes…

  • The Bit After the Beginning of the End, but before the middle of the end

    Posted on April 22nd, 2007 Ben 8 comments

    Dear Diary,

    My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero. But you already knew that so I don’t know why I mentioned it, except that I really am quite super.

    Today began like any other day. Well, almost any other day. There was that time I woke up on a train, naked and alone but for a cockroach, six empty vodka bottles, and a small crowd of several hundred slightly nervous bystanders. Damn evil commie bartender fiends and their supernaturally spiked drinks - no ordinary alcohol could have such an effect on Henry the Adequate, superhero! Oh, And the other day, with the prostitute and the film crew. That started quite differently. Also…

    Today began like any other day that began like today. Little did I know that by nightfall my world was to be turned upside down, like a thing that was previously the right way up. But I ought to have known. I ought to have guessed - detected the edge in her voice, recognized the urgency. The strange absence of duplicity.

    In hindsight this odd lack perceptiveness was probably due to my mind still being on the events of the previous day; The Bees Knees, my escape from almost certain death, Miss Jones and her mysterious pussy…

    “Henry, meet me at two.”

    “How did you get this number?”

    “Do I need to answer that?”

    “I guess not. But…”

    “It’s happening Henry. They’re here.”

    You might thing this would have been a good time to say something really clever, such as “What is happening?”, or, “Who or what is here?”, or even “What do you mean by ‘here’?”

    But no, I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and my magnificent superheroic brain detected immediately the danger of appearing ignorant and set to work formulating in the merest flickering of an instant a brilliant plan carefully designed to give me the upper hand in this situation. You know, whatever this situation was.

    Henry’s Brilliant Plan - Step 1:
    “They’re here? Neat.”

    “Neat? Are you out of your fucking mind!!?” Apparently I was going to need a new plan, because I had been kinda counting on step one working.

    “Uh…” I explained, in a sophisticated attempt to regain control of the situation.

    “Just be there Henry, you moron.”

  • The Beginning of the End

    Posted on April 8th, 2007 Ben 7 comments

    It is good to be home. At the office, I mean. Not home. But it is good to be clothed again, that much is certain. The familiar sensation of cotton on my skin. The unfamiliar sensation of not being constantly embarrassed and humiliated. The weird, slightly constricting sensation of the lady’s g-string. What was that doing in my spare clothes anyway? I suspect some kind of dastardly plot, or I would suspect, but the thin line of cloth currently riding up my crack appears to be cutting off the flow of blood to my brain somehow. Damn those evil supervillain plotsters and their high-tech brain-draining knickers…

    “Ahem…” says the attractive thirty-something…

    “I’m twenty-nine.” interrupts the attractive yet prematurely aged twenty-something as though she can somehow hear me dictating these notes, which is clearly impossible on account of the clever sub-dermal, sub-vocal microphone I bought for $9.95 at Dick Smith Electronics. Well, you know, only the best for Henry the Adequate, superhero.

    “Perhaps she’s insane?!” suggests Mr Enthusiasm, whom I have recently hired as sidekick/receptionist but you may have missed that bit on account of the batteries on my tape recorder running flat. But it went something like this:

    “Wanna job?”

    “Sure.”

    “I can’t pay you.”

    “Ok.”

    “What?!!” interrupts the attractive, possibly insane, twenty-something, as though she has just been insulted in some fashion.

    “Ah, Miss Jones.”

    “Bennett.”

    “No, I am Henry the Adequate, superhero. I don’t know any Bennett.”

    My name is Bennett,” she exasperates exasperatedly.

    “Oh. Well, then,” I reply, noting with some satisfaction that the recently pointless and uninteresting exchange about names and stuff has managed to use up a few column inches, thus relieving me of the need to make up some more word-construction things. “Do I have something for you!”

    She looks distinctly nervous at this point, as though the phrase “Do I have something for you!” coupled with the way I arrived back at the office completely naked and proudly erect and the way this story seems to have recently deteriorated to low grade porn… as though all of these things have given her the distinct impression that I am about to tear off my clothes and reveal that the “thing” I have for her is….

    … but she cannot know any of that. And anyway, I prefer “moderately low-grade porn”, thank you very much.

    “What? Have you…” She urges, much anticipation evident in her urgingness, as though she suspects I am about to reveal that I have solved the case. And indeed, this is exactly the thing of which my revealatory powers are currently preparing to deliver.

    “Yes, Miss Jones, I have destroyed the hideous Androgynous Snowman and sent his mistress, the evil Bees Knees, packing like a mangy she-dog!”

    “But…” she splutters, and for a moment seems unable to speak, as though I have just done something monumentally stupid. This is quite convenient because it gives me an opportunity to ponder recent events, and maybe watch a bit of Buffy on my portable DVD player. Damn those Dick Smith guys are great with their great service and their great products.

    This is not product placement. Shut up.

    But there is no time to discuss further the reader’s insulting insinuation that I am just saying nice things about Dick Smith because of the money they are allegedly paying me, for it seems she may be prepared to continue.

    “But…. my cat? You were supposed to find my cat?”

    “Cat? What?” I don’t remember anything about a cat. Yet she does seem to be extremely agitated about this whole “cat” thing. I rack my brain for something that may comfort her in this moment of distress, because there is a faint possibility I may have contributed to it in some way, and also because my ultra-xray vision tells me that just might be a gun in her purse… “Uh… want a free cabbage?”

  • Flight

    Posted on March 20th, 2007 Ben 4 comments

    My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero.

    “Phew,” Mr Enthusiasm pauses, panting like a [insert something that pants a lot here], “That was close!” Despite his obvious exhaustion my companion still has an excellent command of his exclamation points. I am impressed, though probably not as impressed as he is at my brilliant simile there about the panting thing. But it is to be expected, on account of my spectacular writing skills.

    “Yes, close,” I agree, less-than-enthusiastically. In fact, you might be forgiven for thinking my heart is not in it, whereas it turns out my heart is quite ok with the current situation, although one or two other parts are showing signs of regret. I slump behind a convenient shrub and pretend to catch my breath. Not that I need to or anything, on account of my fantastic super stamina powers, but I don’t want to make my companion look bad or anything.

    “Well done on distracting the evil overlord long enough for me to recover and take her out!” enthuses Mr Enthusiasm. And indeed, it does appear that we have finally escaped the clutches of the evil Ms Bees Knees. Escaped by the skin of our teeth, as they say. Or, to be slightly more accurate, by the skin of my…

    Distraction. Of course! That’s what I was doing. Pretty damn clever of me, if I do say so myself. “Mention it not, sidekick, for I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and it is all part of the whole superhero… gig…. thingy.”

    “However…” Mr E looks kind of embarrassed for a reason that is net yet apparent. He seems to be noticing something about my glorious nakedness. I am uncertain what that might be, but there is to be no beating about this particular bush on account of my being a very forthright kind of hero guy, albeit a naked one.

    “What?” I ask, forthrightly. See what I mean?

    “I think… Well it seems you may have taken a little too much Viagra…”

    “Huh?” I do wish he would stop speaking in riddles. “Stop speaking in riddles,” I suggest.

    “Uh….” he indicates my enormous erection.

    “Oh, that. Don’t worry - it will only last another six or seven hours. Although…” and here an idea occurs to me. A clever, insightful idea the like of which only a particularly super brain might hatch. Or an egg. Eggs hatch too. “… some kind of clothes might be in order.”

    “Yes, of course.” No doubt Mr E is wondering right about now why he did not come up with such a brilliant plan, and may even be feeling slightly inadequate. Impotent even. Better say something to bolster his flagging spirits.

    “What the hell is Viagra anyway?”