Friday, November 11, 2005

Clueful June

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

I struggle into wakefulness, strange dreams dissolving into distant memory, almost instanly alert, as my super senses warn me that something is amiss. What could have triggered such a reaction. What subtle hint impinged itself on my ultra-sensitive awareness?

"Huh..." I mumble as I slump into the bathroom and relieve myself. I am on my way back to bed when I notice that somebody is pounding incessantly on my door. "Bugger." I suppose I had better answer it. My brain feels fuzzy. "June?"

"Henry! I've found a clue!" June seems to love exclamation points. At this time of the morning though I feel they are inappropriate. Maybe that's just me. I also don't like cats, or dogs. Actually I'm not keen on the letter 'K' either. And that nooth-grush on my toothbrush, well I wish he wasn't there. But the neps on the steps they're great fun to have around... "Henry?!"

"Sorry, what?" It seems she has been talking at me.

"Henry I found a guy who makes robotic dinosaurs - ok not normally giant ones - but anyway he's got this website and I saw a picture of one that looked just like the one you fought, only much smaller and I think we should go and check it out, right now!"

"Uh.... Let me get dressed." I am almost fully conscious now, and can't help noticing that I am in fact fully naked.

"So," remarks June as we are heading out the door, "were you having a dream, or are you just happy to see me?"

If I try really hard I am certain I can think of some more ways to humiliate and embarass myself.

9 Comments:

Blogger corpus said...

Not crazy about dogs much either. And I HATE names (esp girls) that start w. the letter K, that are normally C lettered names. Such as uh, Kerry.
Sorry, that's all I got.

9:23 am  
Blogger Ben said...

Isis:

Oh, and children. Foul smelling, obnoxious, almost impossible to house-train properly. Then people look at you strange if you have them put down.

10:01 am  
Blogger corpus said...

Actually, I am banned from about 4 states because of this. I mean, what the hell?? I was only trying to teach Karly that it wasn't right to pee on the new rug.

10:50 am  
Blogger Ben said...

Yeah, damn kids.

but wait...

Oh I am so slow. Names that start with K instead of C... then "trying to teach Karly..."

You're too subtle for me by far.

11:16 am  
Blogger corpus said...

It's okay that you are slow. Slow can be good;)

3:02 am  
Blogger Ben said...

Yeah, because speed kills. I will be sure to drive carefully. Thanks for the advice.

6:06 am  
Blogger Lorraine said...

You sabotaged your car, you fool. Get a horse!
Anonymous

1:40 am  
Blogger Ben said...

MULGA BILL'S BICYCLE by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"


"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."


'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.


It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.


'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.

7:08 am  
Blogger Lorraine said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

6:27 pm  

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