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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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  • 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 Wisdom of Henry #166

    Posted on May 28th, 2007 Ben 11 comments

    I met a man on the street. He said, “Hey dude, you got a dollar?”

    I said, “No, I gave it to Ice.”

    He said “Bummer.”

    I said, “Why don’t you go down to the homeless shelter.”

    He said, “I am an investment banker, dude.”

    “Oh,” I said, and got the hell out of there before anybody noticed I was kinda ripping off an old Monty Python skit. And very badly at that. But then you expect that here, right?

  • 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 Wisdom of Henry #165

    Posted on May 26th, 2007 Ben 2 comments

    CONSERVE WISDOM (and peanut butter)

  • 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 Wisdom of Henry #164

    Posted on May 23rd, 2007 Ben 7 comments

    We wish to advise that due to recent budgetary cutbacks the government has been forced to announce a fifty percent reduction in wisdom allocations. Citizens are urged to conserve all related products, including common sense, witticisms, smartarsedness, and peanut butter. Citizens should also be prepared for potentially crippling wisdom shortages during the coming months, and years.

    Furthermore, in addition, as a result, and following from this, every second “Wisdom of Henry” shall henceforth consist entirely of the words “CONSERVE WISDOM”.

    Thank you for your assistance in this matter.

  • Henry’s Tech Advice #7 - Drag and Drop

    Posted on April 30th, 2007 Ben 6 comments

    As a magnificent computer guru guy it often befalls me to offer my sage advice to the poor and wretched lusers, and their poor and wretched family and friends. Usually this advice falls within the sphere of computer hardware and/or software, but occasionally I receive a cry for help that just cannot be ignored, even though it may not fall within the scope of my core competencies, yet still I do my best to assist, and my best is pretty damn good on account of being a brilliant superhero dude!

    Thus it is with “Kevin” (Name changed because his real name sucks), who asks me to please explain “drag and drop”.

    Well, Kevin, believe it or not there are strange, twisted, demented men in the world who like to go out in public dressed as women. This is known as being “in drag”. Now before you go condemning these sicko losers as, well, sicko losers, please remember that we live in a world of almost infinite diversity, where even the lowliest retard has the Flying Spaghetti Monster given right to parade around in frilly knickers like a sad pathetic wanker with no friends.

    Now, as far as the “drop” part of Drag and Drop goes, the prevailing theory suggests that this behavior will end as soon a the perpetrator’s balls finally drop. This is, of course, rubbish. In fact “drop” is simply what happens when his girlfriend finds out.

    Need help with computer stuff? Henry can help. I promise a timely and definitive response to any technical question asked in the comments here.

    Glossary
    promise - vaguely suggest that something might happen, if you’re really really lucky.
    timely - If it occurs at all it will be within the context of the space-time continuum.
    definitive - My response may contain some definitions, such as these.

  • 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?”