Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Henry's Next Day Off

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

Since I have just saved the universe it seems a day off might be in order. Perhaps I should go to the cricket, except we all know how that worked out last time.

Instead I am at the beach. It is windy, and raining, and I think somebody just stole my wallet. In other words, it has been a fairly typical day off so far. Now all I need is for some kind of nasty supervillain, or perhaps a monstrous demonic creature from hell, to rudely interrupt by trying to kill me or something.

Suddently there is a noise, as of a thousand wailing banshees. Damn, that guy needs to get his brakes fixed. But no, as it turns out there are a thousand wailing banshee-like creatures with nasty claws and enormous fangs approaching my position like a car with noisy brakes. I leap into action, such that my actionlessness vanishes immediately and is replaced by a full complement of actionfulness, which is almost precisely what I need at this point, so that's a bit of a bonus.

My flamethrower roars its firey death music, and several of the leading banshees are engulfed and incinerated like the evil chaos-monsters that they are. Some trees are also engulfed and incinerated, like the evil chaos monsters that they are not. This causes the other banshees to pause for a moment, and I need no more than this minor hesitation, for my reflexes are fast beyond the ken of mere mortals such as yourselves. There is a joke about a guy called Ken in there somewhere, but I have no time for such things. Indeed, death is nipping at my heels like some kind of giant crab that doesn't like me very much.

In the momentary stunned pause that ensues I activate the brand new rocket launcher I have recently installed in my shorts, and a miniature rocket-powered missile speeds to the target, the flames from its exhaust licking briefly about my nether regions in the process. For some reason this causes tentrils of excruciating pain to dance about my entire nervous system. Perhaps some form of blast shield is called for.

The missile explodes on the foreshore, scattering pieces of banshee over a wide area. Also pieces of several cars, a phone box, a beach-side cottage, and a slime encrusted hamster that just happened to be in the line of fire.

The remaining demons flee like the cowardly cowards that they are. "Yay," I cheer with less enthusiasm than someone with very little enthusiasm. I notice that I am lying down, and that there is much pain, and that there is a torrential rain battering my badly charred bits with raindrops the size of elephants. Ok, maybe not elephants.

It is good to have a day off.


Blogger Lorraine said...

I read backwards, and I saw no last time post... gotta go back to today ;)

10:51 pm  
Blogger Lorraine said...

mini rocket in your shorts... SOL (snort out loud)
I have no response to this...
ok maybe happy valentine's day to the mrs

10:58 pm  
Blogger Ben said...

There's a wocket in my pocket.

7:33 am  
Blogger Lorraine said...

There's cred in your head.

10:07 pm  
Blogger Ben said...

There's some kind of gunk in my head. Pass the ice cream scoop please.

10:53 pm  

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