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Henry the Adequate

Henry the Adequate

My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero
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  • The Wisdom of Henry #171

    Posted on October 14th, 2007 Ben 2 comments

    CONSERVE WISDOM by, I don’t know, doing something all conservationalized and wisdom-promoting, like planting a wisdom tree or something.

    Anyway, this whole “Conserve Wisdom” thing isn’t working out nearly as well as I hoped. Fortunately I have several new things planned that will make the “Conserve Wisdom” thing look like some kind of pathetic notion dreamed up by a moron with very little imagination (and, please, no comments to the effect that the Conserve Wisdom thing does that all on its own. Remember, I have a flamethrower).

    For example, stay tuned for the brand new series entitled “Preserve Wisdom”, which will be closely followed by “Be Excellent to Wisdom” (with apologies to Bill and Ted), and “The Magic Faraway Wisdom Tree”.

  • 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…

  • Slightly Left of Right

    Posted on October 9th, 2007 ben 2 comments

    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. But the other thing…. I am prepared to face the other thing now…

    My eyes linger about the shape of her buttocks as they struggle into the tight leather skirt, like a pair of chocolate ice-creams making love on the beach to the tune of “Tie Me Kangaroo Down”. I smile again at the thought of all the times I have plundered those sweet round….

    But in the now I am almost gagging at the thought. My sister. Perhaps I am not prepared to face the other thing after all… except that in this… this… what is it? A dream? No. It is a memory; of this much I am certain, though it conflicts with every other memory in my wretched superheroic brain…

    She is not my sister. In these memories she is not my sister. And I am not a superhero. And we are about to do something we will surely regret…

    In the now - through the fog of pain and confusion - I see her face for a moment, contorted in a screaming agony of despair and agonized desperation, with perhaps a dash of despairing agony thrown in. “Do it Henry.” She is begging with her eyes, like a beggar who has lost her hands and her tongue and has only eyes left with which to beg.

    I glance down at the gun in my hand. Where did that come from?

    And back I go, deep into that foreign past… “You ready?” I pause at the door, hesitating not through doubt or conscience - just to savour the moment. To breathe deeply of anticipation and adrenaline and sweat.

    “I was born ready,” she replies, like a two dimensional character in a fifth-rate novel by a guy who doesn’t mind repeating his jokes, no matter how weak and unoriginal they may be, until the reader cries out “NO NO NO NO Moooooore!!!”

    In the car. She shifts, uneasy. “You sure about the plan?”

    “Sure I’m sure. We’ve prepared for this.” I have never been so ready. My ready-ness is runething over, like a cup that runeths over. “Pull over here.”

    “It’s No Parking.”

    “Keep the motor running - then you’re not parked, right?” Even in this dim dark memory of non-superhero-ness I have a magnificent brain filled with clever solutions to real-world problems. And I can leverage solutions for you too, once suitable remuneratory trends have been negotiated. Call Henry the Adequate Consulting for all your Real-World Problem needs…

    “Henry?”

    “Sorry. Going.” I step from the car, mount the short flight of steps, and enter the lion’s den. The dragon’s lair. The prostitute’s brothel…

    Security guard by the door. Cameras there, and there. I can do this. Easy paces. Stand in line. “Next!” Shuffle forward. “Next!” Closer. Closer. I am at the head of the queue. “Next!” And in an instant the unbearable tension is released, and my muscles, furious coils of steel, erupt like some kind of erupting thing and I burst into action!

    Such is the hyper-intensity of my brain - the inhuman synchronization of mind, body, and spirit about the one goal - I feel as though I have moved into an enhanced state of being. Time slows to a crawl. A slithery kind of crawl. In this state of heightened awareness every footfall seems an eternity, every sight and sound and scent impinges on my senses like an enormous breast…

    Another step. I am there. “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 bonk the unbonkable, but also hoping to force, through weight of sheer willpower, this poor deluded fool to stop. Stop. Stop!!!

    “Yeah,” I continue, bravely, for though I may not be a superhero these evil monsters will surely discover that I am not to be so easily trifled with. “Too many bank fees and stuff. You know, I think.”

    I like to live on the edge.

  • 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 Wisdom of Henry #170

    Posted on June 19th, 2007 Ben 20 comments

    I was going to take comedy to the next level, but then I decided to take it to the previous level instead, or the one before that, or the one before that, mostly because it is easier.

  • The Wisdom of Henry #169

    Posted on June 5th, 2007 Ben 2 comments

    CONSERVE WISDOM. We can show you how.

    The HTA Wisdom Conservation Fund is current accepting donations. Limited time only! Get in while stocks last!

    Our patented Wisdom Extraction Device (WAD) helps you shed excess brain cells while you watch TV, play video games, or work out at the gym. In fact many of these activities actually increase the efficiency of the WAD.

    PAINLESS, SAFE, PLEASURABLE, QUICK. You will come back for more. You will beg us to shoot our WAD at you.

    What’s more it is completely TAX deductible.

    (TAX : Total Anxiety attaXX. Feel the anxiety just flow from you with each redundant IQ point.)

  • 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.”

  • The Wisdom of Henry #168

    Posted on June 1st, 2007 Ben 2 comments

    Every story has to end sometime.

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    Golum: “The Precious! It’s mine! All mine! Hey, what’s this ocean of lava all about? Crap.”

    Frodo: “Neat. Well that’s about finished it for the ring. Quite a good way to end our epic journey really. But wait, why not follow us, folks, as we wander aimlessly back to The Shire, crack onto some she-hobbits, smoke a bit of weed - no no, it’s legal in The Shire - and then maybe go on down to Rivendell to see Bilbo off. Then we can…”

    Sam: ***Shove*** “Oops. Sorry Mr Frodo. Shame about the lava.”

    ***The End***

  • 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.

  • The Wisdom of Henry #167

    Posted on May 30th, 2007 Ben 4 comments

    CONSERVE WISDOM. Do something stupid.