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On the Banks of Des Pair @ Henry the Adequate
My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero
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  • On the Banks of Des Pair

    Posted on October 13th, 2007 Ben 2 comments

    My name is Henry the Adequate, and I may or may not be a superhero, depending on which set of memories is the real one. Unfortunately we seem to currently be trapped in those memories in which I am not a superhero. Please be patient - normal service will no doubt be resumed as soon as normal service is resumed…

    “Uh,” I say, confidently, “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake, like, with my account.” Silence. A terrible terrible silence as all eye turn to me in horror and dread anticipation, as though each of them attempts to believe the unbelievable, to fathom the unfathomable, to shag the unshaggable, but also hoping to force, through weight of sheer willpower, this poor deluded fool to stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.!!!

    I pause for breath before adding some more of that lovely filler designed to take up column inches without over-working my brainy artistic-ness…. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!!!

    “Yeah,” I continue, having managed to use up a good portion of the chapter without actually writing anything new, for though I may be an un-superhero these evil monsters will surely discover that I am not to be so easily trifled with. Unless they have some trifle in the canteen. Hmmmm, trifle.

    Anyway, “Too many bank fees and stuff. You know,” I explain on account of I like to live on the edge. It’s a sort of a curse. In addition to living on the edge I am also partial to trifle, hot coffee, thunderstorms, strategy games, fast cars, slow cars, and photos of naked breasts. Please send nudie photos in an unmarked envelope to the usual email address.

    “Certainly, Mr…” she begins, while all about me horrified onlookers gasp and groan with an air of quiet foreboding, almost as though I have offered myself up like an extremely handsome lamb to the slaughter.

    “Call me Henry,” I interrupt in order to save the author the trouble of inventing a surname for me in this weird alternate reality even though he could probably use the practice on account of really sucking in the making up names department.

    “Just step this way, Mr Henry.” She leads me through an unmarked door like a curvy wolf leading an extremely handsome lamb to the slaughter.

    “So,” I follow eagerly, “Is this the Excess Fees Refund Department?”

    “Something like that,” she replies cheerfully, when suddenly I black out for some unknown reason. As consciousness fades I vow to ask the large fellow with the baseball bat if he knows why I am currently passing out. Just as soon as…

     

    2 responses to “On the Banks of Des Pair”

    1. Dang! I used to work in that type of establishment, so I knew what was coming. And I tried to warn you, I did. Wasn’t I shouting at the screen “Don’t go Henry! Watch out for the guy with the bat! Duck! Duck!!!” Huh? Wasn’t I? But no, you go and walk right into it. Serves you right.

    2. Yeah, Henry’s clever like that.