Tuesday, January 31, 2006

The Really Important Henry and June Post

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

"So, June, what's up?" I could have picked a better place for a meeting, but how was I to know that The Seediest Bar In Seedsville would turn out to be so seedy.

"It's Louise. I think there's something weird going on," June understates, as though she is going for the all-time understatement record or something. Saying that something weird is going on with my sister is the approximate equivalent of saying to a massively pregnant woman, "so, you're going to have a baby." ie: kind of redundant.

"You're not pregnant are you?"

"No!" June seems surprised at the question for some reason, "I think there may be a kind of strange supernatural presence that takes over her brain and making her do things."

"I understand completely," I reassure. Reassurance is very important when you're a superhero, because mere mortals are very fragile and stuff. Not to mention stupid, and more than slightly insane.

"You do?"

"No, not at all." You can only go so far with reassurance, after all.

But what is that? My super xray mega vision detects a shadowy figure in the corner wearing a dark coat, a hat and dark sunglasses who seems somehow to be projecting an air of dangerous watchfulness as (s)he peers intently at us. Just to the right of his/her table is the thing that is bothering me.

"... and then all of a sudden the presence is gone, and she is back to normal." June looks really worried, and may have just been speaking to me, but let's not go jumping to any conclusions. I nod wisely.

"Louise acting normal. That is very disturbing indeed."

"What?"

"Excuse me for just a second." This has been going on long enough, and I must put a stop to it immediately. I stand and stride accross the room, purposefulness in every measured step. The shadowy figure heads for the exit, as though pursued by a furious superhero. But I will not be denied, or distracted. My axe rises and falls, rises and falls as I, the angel of vengeance, do satiate my wrath on the body of the beast.

The television shatters into a million tiny shards of its former wholeness. Damn those reality TV shows. I hate them. Hate hate hate. Anyway... "So, June, what were you saying?"

"I was saying that right in the middle of a chat Lou will jump up and start destroying things, then come back and continue the conversation as if nothing unusual has happened," she explains, a strangely inexplicable look of horror and dawning realization on her face. This is indeed interesting. Perhaps some kind of supernatural evil really is afoot. I wonder what else June can tell me. "But anyway, I must be going now..." She hurries nervously away like somebody with diarrhea who is miles from home and doesn't like public toilets.

I am about to go after her to find out what is wrong, but suddenly realize that there is an extremely urgent matter I must take care of at home, like, Right Now.

Monday, January 30, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #42

Dealing with children:
Shout. Shout louder. Shout louder still. Club with a convenient lead pipe. Rinse and repeat.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #41

Winmodems are not modems.

Also, oral sex is not sex, apparently. I think somebody needs lessons, because if oral sex is not sex you are doing it wrong.

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 14

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

I creep in through the front door and notice a conspicuous absence of alien ray guns pointed in my direction. After careful consideration I decide that this is a good thing.

The rhyme lord is stetched out on the sofa with the appearance of somebody who has found the key to the liquor cabinet. This may be because he has found the key to the liquor cabinet, or it may be because he is a strange alien creature from another time whose ways are strange and alien to me.

I notice that the rhyme machine appears to have a new coat of paint. Interesting. I also notice the computer I bought back from wherever-it-was is still right where I dropped it on the floor of the time travel device. Perhaps I should take a look, since I am brilliant computer guru, who knows lots of stuff about mega-hurts and giga-shadows and things.

But wait, there is a ringing in my ears - the same ringing that usually warns my highly-tuned super senses of impending danger. I drop the computer again and answer the phone. As the computer strikes the floor and bounces a few feet away to rest against my bookcase I experience a strange wobbling sensation, as though the entire fabric of reality has just shifted slightly, and notice a light shower of rose petals falling outside the window. Damn rain.

"Hello, this is Henry the Adequate, superhero."

"Uh..."

"Hello, this is Henry the Adequate, superhero."

"Did everything just, like, wobble?"

"Absolutely not," I reassure, because I am a naturally reassuring and helpful guy.

"Henry I need to see you."

"Hi June. Why don't you come round here..." It occurs to me that my place is in something of a state at the moment, what with the fire damaged time machine, and the vomit, and the rhyme lord, and the ray gun holes in things. "... Actually your place might be better..." It occurs to me that my sister might be at June's place, what with all the kissing and the naked romping and all that. "...Actually how about we meet someplace."

Saturday, January 28, 2006

The Genesis of Henry

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

Of course I was not always a superhero. I used to be just this average guy, until a series of freak accidents gave me my powers.

After falling from the sky, mere toddlers both my sister and I, and being rescued by a kindly old couple who raised us as their own, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, accidentally inhaled some "heavy water" vapors, was involved in a labratory accident in which lightning struck a rack of toxic chemicals causing them to spill on me, discovered that my sister and I had been exposed to cosmic rays during our space voyage, got dropped in a vat of acid, was sugically altered by the government in a secret lab and, finally, had my nappy changed.

Man, that was a busy day.

The Wisdom of Henry #40

Children should be seen, and then not seen anymore.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

The Wisdom of henry #39

The governments of earth have been taken over by evil aliens who love to eat healthy human brains for dessert. Get drunk, smoke pot, take some LSD, and slam your head repeatedly into a brick wall. It's your only hope.

Henry and the Pollutionist

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

"Halt!" I challenge that evil overloard of crime, The Pollutionist, "I have a flamethrower and a coffee headache. Do not mess with me!"

The Monstrous supervillain spins to face me and starts blazing away with his semi-automatic rifle, but I am too fast for him. Using my superhuman speed and superhuman powers of anticipation I am already someplace else. Actually I am already in the sewer. Damn manhole cover thieves.

"Who said that? Show yourself!" demands the demonic fiend, as though he really wants me to show myself. But I am too clever for such a simplistic ploy.

"I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and I am right here, in the sewer." Oops. But it is all part of the brilliant plan I am about to concoct. Except there is no time for that. A hail of gunfire errupts from the manhole above, only narrowly missing as I dive for safety behind some dung. This does not offer as much cover as I might have hoped, so I keep dodging and weaving, using my superhuman powers of speed to execute the excellent plan I am currently inventing. And it will work too, because it is such a good one.

Then there is a pause as though he is reloading. Using my superhuman powes of leaping I agilely leap through the manhole, sail gracefully above the gunman's head, and land cat-like on my feet behind him. Then, also catlike, I clean myself for a moment as he spins desperately to face me while shoving a new clip into his weapon.

A rapid step brings me within range and I strike at the gun before he is able to bring it to bear, sending the thing sailing away from his grasp. "Now, evil crime-lord," I threaten, brandishing my flamethrower in his face, "Tell me how to counter your evil powers of pollution."

I must stop threatening criminal types with my flamethrower. Either that, or get the hair-trigger replaced with something slightly less sensitive. As his body collapses to a pile of smouldering ash I notice a bag nearby, which turns out to contain a large quantity of cash - no doubt left for me by some group of grateful environmentalists as a reward for bringing The Pollutionist to justice at last.

"You're welcome!" I call to my anonymous benefactors, just in case they're still nearby, then head for home while counting the cash, and thinking that maybe I need to buy a car - something really heroic. And a new TV. Possibly a Playstation. And if I buy the rhyme lord a watch, or an ice cream cone, then perhaps he will forget that I may have inadvertently destroyed his time travel device.

Yes, that sounds like a plan.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

The Wisdom of henry #38

Imagine you are somebody else, then you can see yourself as others do. Also you can take the other guy's yacht for a spin and it is not stealing. His bank accounts are also yours.

Remember, it's not identity theft if you really believe.

Henry Pursues the Pollutionist

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

In pursuit of that arch villain and most evil mastermind, the pollutionist, I am. Speak like Yoda I will. Becoming annoying very quickly it is. Care I do not. And anyway it's free, so no right to complain have you.

I am pretty sure the car he escaped in, which was sort of car sized, and had some kind of coloured paint on it, and looked like one of those foreign ones, or possibly a domestic model, or maybe it was a truck.... I am pretty sure the car he escaped in turned left just up ahead. I think that this is probably just a clever ploy to throw me off the scent, so I turn right, and am immediately certain that I have made the correct decision, because the street here has cars in it. Furthermore, some of them clearly contain minions of The Pollutionist because of the smoke coming from their exhausts. I stop one of these using my super powers of car stopping, drag the driver out, and demand to know where his master has gone.

"I have not seem Mistress Stanley, and I do not know what you are talking about," responds the evil hellspawn minion as though he is reading from some kind of script.

"Fool! You cannot protect the evil one from my super powers of finding evil ones, for I am Henry the Adequate, superhero!"

"I have never even heard of Mistress Stanley," he replies, and winces in pain as though some kind of dominatrix has been whipping him some place that might result in discomfort when he sits down.

I employ my most subtle interrogation technique. "Where is The Pollutionist? Talk, scum!"

"The what?" He looks at the same time both confused and relieved, as though he has just discovered that some lewd and depraved and extremely embarassing secret has not just been discovered, "What's a pollutionist?"

I realize now that The Pollutionist, master criminal that he is, has used some devious and dastardly hallucination powers, by which he can cause even his own minions to forget that he exists - otherwise I am certain that this worm would have spilled his guts all over the pavement in response to my peerless interrogation skills. I illustrate this point by striking the person rather firmly in the stomach, which causes him to spill his guts all over the pavement.

I release the evil minion and raise my fist to the heavens in an heroic pose of defiance. "Damn you, evil Pollutionist!"

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #37

Everybody lies, especially on resumes, and when discussing other more intimate stuff that I'm not going to go into right now because this is a family site, and also because the girl scouts I have locked in the basement are ready to talk. Soon I will know where they have hidden the loot, and probably won't need to incinerate any more of them either. Pity.

Henry on Patrol Again

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

Today I roam the streets in search of supervillains. The end of the world may indeed be nigh, but for now there is still evil to fight in all of its nefarious forms, and I am still a superhero, and the mere mortals still need me to protect them from crime and badness.

"Watch it!" I berate an unpleasant looking individual as he charges from some kind of shop, or bank, or something, carrying a sack with dollar signs on it and a big gun, almost knocking me over in the process. People really need to slow down and take the time to enjoy life, you know. Everything doesn't need to be such a big deal. Let stuff take care of itself. "Take it easy man," I advise helpfully as he leaps into some kind of vehicle, which roars off in a cloud of suddenly gaseous rubberized substance that smells really bad and is probably not good for the environment.

"Which way did he go?" A policeman is suddenly on the scene.

"Who?"

He looks at me as though I am some kind of moron. I am uncertain why. "The guy with the gun who almost knocked you over just then. I lost sight, right after he went past you."

"Ah, the pollutionist. He got into a car of some kind," I report intelligently and with great detail, "and then it drove away some place."

"Damn."

"Do not worry, officer. I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and I will bring this nasty criminal to justice for his crimes against the environment!"

Monday, January 23, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #36

Every time a child says "I don't believe in fairies" a fairy dies. Fairies are now an endangered species, and should be protected at any cost. All children must be fitted with my patented Tongue Clamps immediately!

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 13

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

"Ugh..." The rhyme lord appears to be waking up. Judging by the amount of alcohol we consumed the day before, and the fact that he does not have a superhuman constitution, I expect he may not be in very good shape. His head appears from behind the sofa. Eyes struggling to focus he hunts about like some kind of predator searching for a scent. Well a predator with a throbbing headache who has just thrown up all over himself. "What the hell was that?"

"That was one or two drinks," I explain helpfully, "But I must leave now. I have important superheroing to do."

At this point I notice that his eyes have started working again, and that he appears suddenly more alert. I notice these things because of the way he is staring, a look of shock and horror on his features, and the way he is saying "Oh shit" over and over for some reason, and the way he appears to be reaching for some kind of weapon.

"Oh yeah," I admit honestly, because I am a superhero and a champion of all that is good and truthful, "Some guys came in and trashed your time machine."

"Some guys?"

"Well, me, really."

He shrieks like a wounded shriek monster and begins furiously firing some kind of ray gun thingy. Only my superhuman speed saves me from being all rayerized. I leap behind the sofa, landing in some kind of squishy slippery substance, and sliding right on out the other side. "Bugger." Then I am up again and leaping to avoid some more ray gun rays. I end up behind the rhyme powered time ship. The firing stops.

"What's that?"

I glance from cover, expecting some kind of trick. But he is indicating the computer I brought back from that really long hall place. "Just a computer I found, when I was doing stuff."

"Oh." Then there is some more firing, and dodging, and hiding. After a while it stops. "Battery's flat," he announces.

"I see." I sneak out cautiously, prepared for a trap, prepared to leap once more for safety, but he has thrown the weapon accross the room and slumped onto the sofa, which has several holes in it from his ray gun but is otherwise intact. "You wanna order pizza?"

Sunday, January 22, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #35

Sometimes it is easy to forget why we are all here, what with the hustle and bustle of modern existence, and work, and television, and evil supervillains raining death and destruction like big evil raindrops onto us all, and other really intense and cerebral distractions.

It is for this reason that I have come here today to remind you all that the purpose of life is.... hey look, a shiny thing. Be right back.

BSOD 2

The Grand Controller can tell that something is up. He detects it in the faces of his underlings, in their transparent attempts at avoiding his presence, and in the sirens blaring the emergency signal, wailing the same despairing shriek he will no doubt soon be hearing from the underlings when he has them brutally tortured and executed for whatever it is they have now allowed to happen.

"Master," a sub-controller approaches fearfully, and hands over a document. "Overseers report a disturbing, um, disturbance."

"Summarize," commands the Grand Controller, barely glancing at the report.

"An individual materialized in the hall via some form of time travel device, and stole the only operational universe we have."

"What!" How could this happen? The Grand Controller spins and stares at the great hall through his transparent outer wall. This hall stood for an eternity, and has never been breached. It could not be breached, existing as it did behind the most deviously cunning unreality barrier ever devised.

"That's not all." Apparently the sub-controller is still here. "Preliminary analysis suggests that the thief originated in the universe he stole, and that he returned there." There is a brief moment of relief as the Grand Controller realizes that the hall was not breached from without, then comprehension, horror, rampaging disbelief.

"That's impossible!" No matter how incredibly complex it may be a universe cannot escape the system, cannot cause any particle of itself to exist beyond the bounds of the quantum computer in which it is encapsulated. And for the thief to escape back to his own reality, which is itself within the computer, taking the computer with him? When dealing with quantum realities it is not always wise to attempt to define the possible, but still, some things are clearly, well... "Impossible. The computer cannot be within itself."

"Yes, Grand Controller." The underling knows better than to contradict his master.

"Get me the head of IT, now."

Saturday, January 21, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #34

There is more to infinity than meets the eye.

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 12

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

I step out of the blazing rhyme machine, glance about, and gasp gaspingly, like a professional gasper at a gasping conference, until I have repeated the word gasp so many times that it loses all meaning.

Before me is a hall, fairly narrow, and at first glance rather ordinary, containing two rows of desks, each with a computer, and a user. The strange thing - the thing that makes me gasp - is the way the room appears to be infinitely long.

"What?" mutters a strange looking person with a stunned look of confusion on his face, just below his tentacles, "Who... how..."

"I am Henry the Adequate, superhero!" I announce proudly, though with an odd feeling as though I have just turned up at work naked. Why is everyone looking at me? But, of course, they probably have not seen a superhero before. Yes, that must be it.

"But..." explains the pseudo-humanoid eloquently. Then I notice some guys with weapons of some kind heading my way rather quickly, and the apparently infinite supply of computer nerds are starting to crowd menacingly about like an unimaginably large number of weirdly tentacled aliens menacing a handsome superhero in an impossibly long room.

What to do? My enormous brain gets to work on the problem with all the super brain powers at my disposal, like a well oiled.. um... thing that needs oil to operate. Desperately I lunge for the nearest computer, and, holding it aloft do defiantly shout "Halt, or the computer gets it!" My supercharged ultra xray senses note with a minor complete lack of understanding that the computer does not appear to have a power source of any kind, and that it is still operating.

But I have no time to wonder why aliens apparently advanced enough to design an infinitely long room, and a computer that operates without power still find it necessary for said computer to be in the form of a beige box. No, I must focus on the reaction of the aliens to my brilliant gambit.

There is a deafening silence, followed by another. The armed aliens have indeed halted their advance, an expression of horror on their speckled features. I back slowly toward the time ship, which appears to have stopped burning. Inside, and the lights are out, possibly because of the fire that has just gutted this machine, and there is a strong smell of smoke and fried electrical circuits. I drop the computer and locate the controls using my super powers of feeling around blindly in the dark. "Take me home, but not to Rome, cause that's not where I live," I poeticize brilliantly, then smash at the melted blobs of stuff that used to be control knobs and levers.

In defiance of all logic the machine hums to life, groans briefly as though it has just been completely trashed and horribly disfigured by fire, then lurches about for a bit before finally coming to rest with the now-familiar thud of arrival.

"Well that worked out ok," I announce cheerfully as I step from the fire-blackened remains of the rhyme machine and collapse wearily into the nearest chair. I wonder what is on TV.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 11

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

I step out of the rhyme machine into darkness, or light, into a crowd, or an aloneness, into doom, or salvation. But that is not the point. The point is that I step out of the time ship, thereby surviving the flaming holocaust that is consuming it. The rest is just, you know, minor niggly little details - like, where I am, what is happening, and all of that, which I shall come to, eventually, when the time is right, when I finally get around to noticing where I am, but for now let us just say "I step out of the rhyme machine".

I step out of the rhyme machine, my super brain abuzz with thoughts of hope and elation and rapid-fire calculations of probability, of the end to this nightmare of universal damnation. And pizza. Thoughts of pizza. I'm hungry.

But that is not all. Somewhere in the churning chaos of my thoughts there is a shadowy voice. And this is not one of the usual voices that live in my head - you know, the ones that tell me to fight crime, or to order extra olives, or to kill you all. No, this is the voice of self-doubt. How long, it demands. How long can I continue to fight the forces of evil darkness, and prevent the earth, indeed the universe, as it teeters on the edge of oblivion, from falling headlong into that void. Who am I to claim a right, or an ability, to boldly alter the course of this universe. Will I ever find that which I seek, have sought for most of this life - a chocolate ice cream pizza with lashings of chocolate sauce and sprinkled with shaved chocolate.

But enough of the wallowing in doubtfulness. The time ship blazes behind me, while before me... I gasp, gaspingly.

The Wisdom of Henry #33

God is truth. Truth is stranger than fiction.

Therefore God is stranger than fiction. You should never talk to strangers.

Therefore you should never talk to God. Talk is cheap.

Therefore God is cheap. Which is what his mother-in-law has been saying all along.

Trust me, I'm a superhero.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #32

Time is just a random fluctuation in my brain vortex, and you are all figments of my weird dream-state projected into the sub-ether by my manifest aloneness.

Thus spake God one day, when he was really really pissed. God should not drink so much, especially when his mother-in-law is coming to visit.

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 10

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

Under my expert ministrations the strange time ship shudders as though fearing for its very existence, as well it should for the poetry that springs from my super-lips contains power beyond the ken of mere rhyme lords. I am determined to force this device to the limits of its capabilities and in so doing rip the very fabric of space-time from the constraints of the hyperdimensional laws that bind us to a fate that's really really yucky.

Tomes of roaming darkness wander through my essence,
as intolerable critics of my dress-sense
march into the abyss like doomed guys marching into doomedness
while anyway I laugh and giggle and wriggle and spread my lonely form
beyond the limits of ineptitude, and into the warm embrace of despair
but there is no release for such as I -
no day pass, no piece of arse, no greener grass to inhale and lose myself in.
Also, I am the superheroic reincarnation of Doctor Doolittle,
So do not mess with me human swine.

Having thus regaled the time ship with my brilliantly intellectual poeticizing, and pushed a few buttons, pulled some levers, and stuff, I wait for the inevitable response.

There is a horrible tearing, rending sound, as though some large metallic object is being ripped into really small pieces. There are some flashes, sparks, a massive discharge of electrical potential, then all is darkness, or all would be darkness if not for the blazing fire where the control console used to be.

Excellent. No doubt I have broken through the barriers of unreality and through the application of my super time-vortex energy restored the multiverse to its previous glory. Either that or I have just broken the rhyme powered time machine.

In order to examine the fruits of my fruit growing activities, and also to avoid being burned to a cinder of my former self, I exit from the time machine into... some place that I'm not going to describe now, because I don't want to ruin the surprise or anything, and also because I haven't made it up yet.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #31

Self mutilation is a bad bad thing, but the good news is there are plenty of people around who will do it for you.

The Great Battles of Henry #2

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

The dastardly foe darted about the room like a blindingly fast and extremely agile dart. My massive fists swung with all the power at their disposal, which was a lot. Really a lot. I mean, I don't like to brag or anything, but my powers of bludgeoning are beyond the wildest dreams of mere mortals such as yourself. Why once I crushed a whole packet of chips with a single mighty blow.

Anyway, my massive fists swung repeatedly with all the power at their disposal, but somehow could not manage to connect with the evil adversary, even though my super-speed powers are unmatched by even the mightiest of road runners, and even though my predictively autofocusing powers of prediction can anticipate the wiliest of coyotes.

"Damn!" I activated the flamethrower that is embedded in my forearm, and raked it about the room with grim determination, yet still the quarry evaded the deadly unevadableness of my relentless assault.

The enemy flew out the window as though it realized that I would soon be successful in my unrelenting, or possibly it flew out the window to escape from the building that had now burst into flames for no readily apparent reason. Either way, I followed, for I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and never will allow an enemy to escape my righteous crusade for goodness. Then with a final burst of plasma the evil creature was engulfed and incinerated, and there was not a trace of its passing, save that of memory.

I really really hate flies.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #30

People will not support you.

A bridge will support you, a brassiere, a jockstrap, a disembodied voice whispering instructions inside your head.

People cater to their fears and insecurities, and look for reasons after, then finding none invent a whole new reality to live in.

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 9

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

I munch on my kebab like there is no tomorrow, which there probably isn't. Other patrons look at me strangely, as though they have never seen a superhero before, or at least not a naked one eating kebabs like there is no tomorrow. I do not care, since pretty soon there will be no tomorrow.

I purchase another kebab, then head for home, my feet padding silently on the footpath like a silent padding superhero who is the veteran of many strange adventures and is now waiting for the universe to cease to exists, possibly as a result of his own actions. On the plus side the kebab is very good.

Also, I will finally defeat my old arch-enemy, Doctor Death. Also I will have prevented my sister from carrying out her dastardly master plan, whatever it was. Also, the unwarranted and excessive use of the word "also" will finally cease. Also... but enough of that.

On the way home I rescue a kitten that is stuck in a tree. It is amazing how unstuck cats become when the thing they are stuck to bursts into a flaming inferno of deadly flames. I could describe the whole scene, and tell you how grateful everybody is even though they don't say it in so many words, possibly due to being busy fleeing the fire that has spread to some nearby cars and houses and things, but I am not going to.

Home at last I dress in something slightly less revealing than nothing at all, grab a beer, then check on the still sleeping rhyme lord. I shake him gently, like a monster storm gently shaking some trees into tiny little splinters, but he still does not wake.

Oh well, how hard can it be? I enter the Rhyme Machine and start expertly fiddling with the controls in a way that might seem random to you, but you do not have a superheroic brain like mine.

Monday, January 16, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #29

Be true to your dreams.

For example, one time I dreamed that the grocer down the street was an evil hellspawn bent on the destruction of all mankind, so in the morning I reduced him, and his business, to a steaming pile of ash.

Henry the Superstar

[warning - tasteless and offensive material ahead. Probably best to go and read something else, like "see spot run" which is really interesting and much nicer.]

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

I have just finished beating a couple of evil criminal types to a bloody pulp. Serves them right for trying to sell "cookies" door-to-door dressed as school girls. Definitely a front for some kind of protection racket.

Now, to the next part of my plan. I head for the seedier side of town, where all the seeds hang out. Sometimes I wonder why horticulture gets such a bad name, but surely that thought is just some kind of subliminal message planted in my brain by lettuce salesmen. Anyway, I digress, then after a while I regress to some animal stage while causing the egress of large quantities of chunky fluid from my mouth and nostrils. I decide that I do not like words that end in "gress".

I zig-zag blurrily accross the street, my thoughts all fuzzy and random. It cannot be the alcohol, for I have the constitution of somebody with a really impressive constitution, so I must have been poisoned at one of those bars I happened to stumble into. Damn those secret poisoners and their poison-masters.

Ahead is a likely-looking prostitute, or "sex worker", or whatever the hell we're supposed to call them now. I demand a price list, or possibly a catalogue with photos, but it turns out she is unavailable just at the moment, on account of being a car and not a whore (sorry, "horizontally employed person"). This is a mistake anybody could have made.

Then this guy approaches and suggests that I should come with him. I think this is a really good idea, for some reason. He explains that he has just paid a prostitute, but was unable to perform, so on stepping out for a breath of fresh air he has noticed my predicament, and is now generously offering the use of said horizontally employed person, fully paid for and everything. This seems completely reasonable to me. I follow eagerly.

Upstairs in a nearby building, we enter a room, and I am almost instantly blinded. Do these people not know I have super-sensitive eyes? After a few moments my eyes adjust a little, and I see a woman with massive breasts, and some kind of face and hair and other stuff of some kind. I do remember that she is wearing a tremendous amount of nakedness. She immediately approaches and begins to undress me. This is not very difficult since it appears that at some point during the evening I have lost my trousers. "Hi, my name is Henry, but you can call me John, you know, if that's easier to remember."

She replies, but I notice that her voice sounds very muffled, possibly because she now has my enormous super-erection in her mouth. Such professionalism - I admire her dedication, then after a moment I begin to admire her skill, then after another moment my brain starts to melt into an incoherent jumble of pseudo-thought such that it becomes increasingly difficult to dictate these notes, but I soldier on nonetheless, because I am Henry the Adequate, superhero.

Shortly I notice that the voices in my head are shouting out instructions, as they usually do. "On the bed now." Apparently the large-breasted one can also hear the voices in my head, for she stands and drags me over to the bed like a dragging dervish fresh out of dragging school. I guess we must be soul mates or something, otherwise how could she hear my voices? "Tell her to mount you!"

"Um... get on top... that is, put my... um... thing in your... um... thing," I request demandingly in a very manly and sensual fashion.

"Finally, somebody who can act," enthuse the voices in my head. Surely they know by now that I am a superhero man of action. Then my glorious manhood is enveloped in her softness and wetness like an eel being enveloped in a soft, wet, um... lake, and I moan with the pleasure of it as though my very super senses are bursting with sensory sensations. "Doggy," yell the voices and I look around for some kind of canine presence, but there is no time for that because we seem to be changing positions again. She is on hands and knees, and I behind, looking down the slope of her back from impressive buttocks, curving rapidly to a feminine waist, then on to perfectly shaped shoulders supple and erotic, yet also strong enough to easily support even the enormous globes that hang below like big dangly things. I flex my rippling muscles and push into her, like some kind of big thing entering into some kind of slippery wet place, or you know, like a thirsty man entering a pub on a really hot day, or a drunken superhero entering some unknown partner on a heart-shaped bed. I notice that the bed is heart shaped because I appear to have just fallen off of it.

"Ok, cut!" shouts the voice in my head, "Take five then we'll come back for the money shot." Then suddenly the bright lights go out and I have a sudden suspicion that the voices are not inside my head at all, and this is supported by the fact that I can now see all sorts of people, and cameras and things. I then begin to suspect that all is not quite as it has seemed.

"Um..."

"Nice work Henry," some guy slaps me on the back and gives a thumbs-up.

"Yeah," somebody else agrees, "Narrating the whole thing - very original."

"Um... Hey, look at the wookie!" I cunningly distract all present, then head for the nearest exit. I notice that the door is locked. A burst of liquid fire from my embedded flamethrower fixes that, and I am soon on the street, feeling suddenly sober, feeling suddenly a cold breeze caressing my naked everything, and feeling suddenly like grabbing a kebab someplace. Fortunately I seem to have kept hold of my wallet during all of the recent events.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #28

It's a small world. Well, smallish. Which is to say it is waaaaaay bigger than a beach ball. Anyway, if it's so damn small how come we can fit six billion people in here?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 7

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

"Ok, Doctor Smarty Pants, if the past cannot be altered, then what's the point having rhyme lords, and how come you thought I could help you when we first met, and what about self-determinism since all people exist in the past relative to somebody else?"

"It's complicated," he explains, thereby cleverly avoiding a major plot inconsistency, "The laws of time are not absolute. There are loopholes."

"Take me home, Doctor What, for I have a plan." And it is a good plan too. An excellent one. It will work, of this I am certain. We step out of the time machine in my flat a few moments later. All is as it should be. I grab a mostly-full bottle of something extremely alcoholic. "Drink?"

"Thanks." He accepts the glass and we sit. "So, what's the plan then?"

"Sorry?"

"Your plan, what is it?"

"This," I explain carefully, for clearly he is a little bit thick, "is the plan." I show my glass by way of explanation, and drain a good portion of it. "This, and many more like it." Well I don't tell him the whole plan, but the alcohol is a very important part of it, possibly the most important. Certainly it is seeming more vital with each passing drink.

"Oh." The Rhyme Lord drains his own glass. "As good as any other, I suppose."


"Now!" It is several hours later, and I stand steady as a rock while rocking gently from side to side, and as sober as a judge, and as pissed as a parrot. Fortunately I am too drunk to notice the many inconsistencies in the previous sentence. "Now, for the next part of the plan!" The Doctor has passed out. No matter. I will venture forth alone to face the task ahead. A superhero is always alone, really, and anyway... anyway... there was supposed to be something after "anyway".

I roam the footpaths looking for a fight, a prostitute, and an STD clinic, in that order. Yes, I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and I have a plan.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #27

You can't always get what you want, but I can, because I am a superhero.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 6

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

We are in the grocery store, waiting for me to fall from a strange shimmering nothingness and inadvertently destroy the multiverse. Suddenly, from two aisles over there is a blackness, a thudding as of somebody falling heavily to the ground and jarring his elbow, thus discharging a multiverse-destroying weapon This is followed immediately by a masive discharge of multiverse-destroying energy.

"Of course, it was aisle six. Back to the time machine!"

We are in the grocery store again, in aisle six this time, waiting for me to fall from a strange shimmering nothingness and inadvertendly destroy the multiverse. Right on schedule the ceiling forms into a black shimmering nothingness that is the strange pan-dimensional portal. As though in slow motion I see myself falling though the portal. This is due to my superhuman senses and my extra-super speed reflexes, and has nothing at all to do with any weird kind of time-dilation effect I may or may not be experiencing.

Anyway, as my previous self falls he loses control of the quantum particle accelerator and it goes spinning away to the right. This is not how I remember it happening - as far as I can recall I jarred my elbow while holding the weapon, thus causing it to discharge. Weird. But there is no time to contemplate my mental deficiencies. The device must have fired when it struck the ground. I leap with all the power and speed of my magnificent superhuman muscles, my hand grasping it mere inches from the floor. Relief floods my brain an instant before my elbow strikes the floor jarringly, causing the device to discharge with a brilliant flash of energy.

"I hate to tell you this," remarks the Rhyme Lord as we head for the time machine once again, "but that kind of accelerator cannot operate unless it is being held by a living being."

"So if I hadn't grabbed it..."

"Yes."

"Damn."

We are in the grocery store again, waiting for me to fall from a strange shimmering nothingness and inadvertently destroy the multiverse. I note with some interest that repeating the same paragraph over and over is much easier than writing new stuff. Suddenly, from two aisles over there is a blackness, a thudding as of somebody falling heavily to the ground and jarring his elbow, thus discharging a multiverse-destroying weapon This is followed immediately by a masive discharge of multiverse-destroying energy.

"But..." I am shocked and stunned, my super-brain-powers churning into overload like an overloaded super-brain. I check and double-check. This is definitely aisle six. "But..."

"Law of conservation of reality," explains my companion annoyingly, "Attempts to change the past result only in changes that server to prevent any significant alteration in the time line. Did I mention that this is never going to work?"

Sunday, January 08, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #26

Life is like a box of chocolates - brown and squishy and tastes nice, but it all turns to crap in the end.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 5

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

"Come, rhyme lord," I announce confidently, "We must go!" I drag him over to his boxy grey time machine. It is time, once again, for Henry the Adequate, superhero, to spring into action like a well oiled, um, spring.

"Wh..." he argues shrewdly, "There's nothing we can do. All is doomed."

"Fool! We must go back, or forward, or crossward or whatever, in time and stop me from destroying the multiverse. When I fell through the trans-dimensional portal, and the quantum particle accelerator discharged - that is where, when, we must go."

He is protesting that it will not work, and going on about something or other. Time paradox, or cross-inverted reality loops, and stuff like that. But I will have none of it. Dumping him before the controls of the machine I give him the appropriate date and demand compliance.

"Dates and dates and take us to where our fate awaits," he intones into the device, like a particularly inept poet, while at the same time fiddling with some buttons and knobs and levers like a particularly inept pilot.

We exit into a street I recognize as being close to our destination. Excellent. My plan is going according to plan like a well oiled, um, plan. "Come, Doctor Whatever-your-name-is, we must tarry no longer."

"This really is a bad idea," he suggests, while bravely guarding the rear.

We enter the grocery store and head for the appropriate aisle. "Ok, this is the place, and with five minutes to spare. We shall wait."

We wait. And wait. And wait. Damn this interminable waiting. Four minutes to go...

Finally the time arrives, but I rather inconsiderately fail to fall through a trans-dimensional portal in the ceiling. "Ok, maybe it was a bit later. We should wait some more." We wait some more, and some more after that. "Um... maybe it was the Monday. Take me to tomorrow Doctor What!"

"Ok, but it's not going to work."

"Shut up and drive."

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #25

The first rule of superherodom says that you must always uphold the rules of superherodom, no matter what.

I forget what the other rules are.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Henry and the Rhyme Lord - Part 4

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

"So, you destroyed the entire multiverse." The strange rhyme lord person has an odd sort of look on his face - kind of a mixture of reverence, revulsion, and disbelief.

"It was an accident."

"Accident? It's a disaster. Do you not understand what this means? The delicate balance of time/space vortices has been ruptured, and this universe will become increasingly unstable, until the whole thing collapses into a quantum singularity. Haven't you heard of a Cascading Reality Failure?"

"So?"

"So, we're all going to die."

"But, that will take millions of years, right?"

"If the information you have given me is accurate than I estimate, based on our point of departure from your time/space context, that the universe will end next Thursday at three oclock, give or take a week."

"Next thursday, give or take a week. So, just to be totally clear, the universe will end sometime between last thursday, and thursday week, right?" I am beginning to think that we may currently be in a spot of bother.

"Yes. That is approximately correct."

"... But you know a way to stop it, right?"

"No."

"Oh." I set my enormous super-intellect to work on the problem, certain that my brain will come up with the optimum solution, as it always does, and that I, Henry the Adequate, superhero, will save the day once again, though the cost in exploded brains be too high for a mere mortal to survive. Fortunately I am no mere mortal. After an exhaustive study of the situation by my supercomputer powers requiring many man-years, though it takes mere seconds due to my magnificent brain powers, I have discovered an appropriate response. "Bugger."

Sunday, January 01, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #24

It is very easy for your computer to get a virus, so make sure you wear one of those surgical masks at all time while using it. They are also apparently very susceptible to worms, so once a month, or whenver it seems to be using a lot of electricity, just shove a worming tablet into the floppy drive, give it a good shake, then reboot three or four times in order to spread the medicine through the system.

Another thing that can really help keep your computer healthy is heat. As we all know, high temperatures kill many bacteria, so unplug all case fans, turn the system on, then use a hair dryer to blow as much hot air as possible through it. You will be amazed at the difference it makes.

Trust me, I'm a superhero.