Friday, March 31, 2006

Henry the Presumably Innocent

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

"Excuse me officer, I saw what happened," says a strangely familiar voice. It is as though I have met the person before or something.

"Did you?" The policeman is looking at somebody directly behind me.

"No, I did not. But I may have just seen somebody running a red light," explains June. She is now visible to my left, an expression of hopeful helpfulness on her face.

"Right. Stand aside please." For some reason he seems unimpressed by June's willingness to assist. The policeman turns back to me. "Now, tell me what happened."

"I do not know, officer. I was in another state at the time."

"Five minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"You were interstate five minutes ago?" The flickering light of a massive raging fire - sorry, alleged fire - lights up his face, revealing an expression of slightly extreme skepticism, as though for some strange reason he suspects that I am not being entirely honest.

"Um... It could have been six minutes..."

Thursday, March 30, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #93

It is always easier to criticize than to come up with a creative solution. So, just criticize then, because it is easier. That's what I do. Actually, destructive solutions are also much easier than creative ones. Excuse me while I charge my flamethrower.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #92

The Law of Constricted Space: An unrestrained and unsupervised baby/toddler will, in the shortest possible time, find the most dangerous object in a given space, and begin interracting with it in whatever manner will lead most directly to disaster.

Henry and the Bomb - The Real Story

The office building explodes spectacularly. A massive chunk of some kind of building material stuff crushes me like the chicken that didn't quite cross the road. Or it would have/will. In the tiny fraction of a second that remains of life, I reach forth with my temporal awareness, grasp mentally at several fragile strands of reality, and twist them brutally with all of the panic in my brain, like a chicken that has been attempting to cross the road, and is now about to be brutally crushed by some kind of massive truck, or possibly a bus, or an anvil. Chickens are not very bright, you know.

I have time shifted thirty-five minutes into the past. Somewhere in the building before me there is a bomb. Because of my enormous intellect, and my brilliant superhero powers of deduction, I know immediately what must be done. There is only one course of action open to Henry the Adequate, superhero, noblest of the noble.

**Snatch**

"Hey, give me back my Troll Baby!" shrieks the mother of aforementioned infant, as though something vaguely bad has just happened.

"Sorry Ma'am, there's a bomb in that building over there," I explain, using my super power of sounding really official.

"Oh," she nods wisely, "I see. Well, go right ahead then." Clearly she is familiar with the Law of Constricted Space, so named because it is sufficiently vague as to not give away what is about to happen next.

I hurry into the building, place the baby carefully, then back away. "Well now," I say loudly, using my most impressive acting skills, "Ho hum. I am looking over here, and not watching the baby. What ever will happen next." I glance back just in time to see the child disappearing up the nearest stairwell. I follow at a discreet distance.

On the next level we exit the stairwell. Down the hall. Left. Right. Right again. A broom closet. Ah, ha! This must be it! But no, the baby has just paused to chew on a poisonous looking spider. Onward we venture.

Soon the child disappears into a vacant office. I follow, peering cautiously within. There sits the Troll Baby, gnawing happily on some kind of explosive device. Excellent. I hurry inside, remove the bomb from his eager grasp, and examine it with my super-xray-vision. It seems I must cut the red wire.

I prepare to sever the wire with a tightly focused blast from my flamethrower. I adjust the delicate hair-trigger, sight carefully on the red wire, just below the teeth marks, adjust the treadle (Trouble at mill), and gingerly begin to depress....

But wait! Teeth marks? On the red wire? The kid was chewing on the red wire? Holy cow! I shift slightly and a deadly tongue of flame darts out, burning instantly through the green wire. In that moment my body fails to become instantly vaporized. I take this as a good sign, and a further scan with my xray vision shows that the bomb is indeed inactive. Phew. Saved once again by the Law of Constricted Space.

Now, where did the baby Troll go?

The next room is labelled "Stragetic Defence", with a sign a little lower saying "Please do not challenge the computer to a game of Global Thermonuclear War". Oh, crap.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Henry and the Bomb

The office building explodes spectacularly. A massive chunk of some kind of building material stuff crushes me like the chicken that didn't quite cross the road. Or it would have/will. In the tiny fraction of a second that remains of life, I reach forth with my temporal awareness, grasp mentally at several fragile strands of reality, and twist them brutally with all of the panic in my brain, like a chicken that has been attempting to cross the road, and is now about to be brutally crushed by some kind of massive truck, or possibly a bus, or an anvil. Chickens are not very bright, you know.

I have time shifted thirty-five minutes into the past. Somewhere in the building before me there is a bomb. Because of my enormous intellect, and my brilliant superhero powers of deduction, I know immediately what must be done. There is only one course of action open to Henry the Adequate, superhero, noblest of the noble.

I heroically get the hell out of there.

Monday, March 27, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #91

Never send to know for whom the belle tolls; She tolls for me, Henry the Adequate. What else did you expect?


Now is the time for all good men, and women, to visit my tenant, the Troll Baby. Well, actually, she's the mother of the troll baby, but you get the idea, or you will, when you visit. Go on then.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Henry and the Baby Troll

"Who was that masked man?" remarks a voice from behind me.

"I don't know," says another, "But he seemed really pissed off at the cigarette machine."

But I have no time to introduce myself to intoxicated fans, no matter how adoring they might be, for I have once again spotted the brownish blur of something-or-other that surely needs to be investigated. I dive headlong across the floor, knocking drunken patrons, tables, drinks, and evil supervillains flying in all directions. I make a mental note to come back for those supervillains, and perhaps several of the more attractive drunken patrons. But I have no time for that now. My skillfully directed slide brings me within inches of the strange brown creature. I reach, stretch, miss. Bugger. The monstrous whatever-it-is evades me by the slimmest of margins and dances away nimbly, like a particularly nimble dancing creature.

Meanwhile I am busy slamming head-first into the jukebox, like some kind of cartoon coyote who has just missed the roadrunner, and is now sliding head-first into the side of a mountain, except that it's a jukebox, of course, and not a mountain. Not even a slightly mountainous jukebox. Or a mountain that plays music. I am going to stop talking about mountains now.

I cast about, using my ultra-xray hyper-vision to scan the area faster than a speeding bullet. There! I dive once more across the room, ignoring protest and curses from those I knock down like previously standing things that have just been knocked down. Now I have the creature trapped in a corner of the bar. It stares at me with beady little eyes alight with mischief, like a mischievous staring thing.

"Got you now, evil troll baby!" I grab him by the arm, which turns out to be slimy and encrusted with some kind of brown substance that is vaguely familiar. "Oh, crap!"

"Yes, er, sorry," remarks a nearby woman with an embarassed cough, "That's what it is alright." She scoops up the miniature monster and heads for the toilets before I can even hit him with my de-evilizer ray. "Wait," I call, "Don't you want me to de-evilize him?" But it is too late.

I wash my hands for an hour, just to get the evil out.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #90

I met a man on the road. He said, "Isn't it weird how we keep meeting on the road?"

I said, "Yeah, freaky."

Henry Investigates Some Stuff

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

The Seediest Bar in Seedsville is particularly busy tonight, but I must venture wherever the clues do take me, even if it does happen to be topless night. A barmaid jiggles over to me and I ask for something wobbly, sorry bubbly. I have several.

I survey the bar, looking for my contact, and wondering what kind of information he has for me. Out of the corner of my eye I notice movement, quick and low to the ground. But it is gone.

Ah, ha! There is my contact. I approach sneakily, so as to avoid drawing attention to us. "So, what's the thing?"

He does not respond. I slide some money toward him surretish.... surrep.... sneakily. Something falls to the ground.

"Hey, man, you dropped your cigarettes." Only a mortal could be so clumsy. While bending over to pick them up I notice something small, brown, and very quick darting furtively about beneath some nearby tables. "So," I question the snitch, questioningly, "What do you know?"

He does not speak. Clearly this is the part where I rough him up a bit. I prime my rocket launchers in anticipation, but do not attack quite yet. Surreptitiously I slide a little closer, look him squarely in the eyes, and give him one more chance to speak, just because it is the right thing to do, and also to prove that I can indeed spell that word.

Again I am greeted by silence. In a sudden and unaccusomed fit of reason I decide that destroying him, and the rest of the bar, might be slightly excessive at this point. "Damn you! Just for that you're not getting your cigarettes back!" I go to get another drink.

"Who was that masked man?" remarks a voice from behind me.

"I don't know," says another, "But he seemed really pissed off at the cigarette machine."

Friday, March 24, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #89

It's better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to be incinerated by a massive blast of liquid fire from my flamethrower, so shut the hell up.

It is also better to visit the Troll Baby, than to be incinerated... etc.

The Wisdom of Henry #88

When you have nothing to say it is very wise to say nothing.

Or you could just make stuff up. Making stuff up is good, and no doubt very wise.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Henry The Rescuer

Today I rescued a damsel in distress.

"My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am here to rescue you."

"From what?"

"Ah clearly you are in a state of shock and/or have a malfunctioning brain. But fear not, for I, Henry the Adequate, shall carry you to safety!"

"Hey! Get your hands off me!! Put me down!!!" I experience a sudden sensation as of being beaten about the face and kicked about the ankles, possibly a result of the fact that the damsel is kicking and screaming and flailing about with her arms for no readily apparent reason. But none of that is important right now. At this moment all that is important is my mission to rescue the damsel from that blazing inferno that blazes blazingly where once an office block proudly stood.

"Do not struggle," I suggest, helpfully.

"Just.... fuck....don't...." For some reason she seems furious beyond the capacity for rational speech. I decide to help the poor distraught woman. Perhaps if I compliment her on her choice of clothing or something like that. Apparently this is a useful technique in dealing with the weaker sex.

"Nice, um, overalls..... Um..... What a huge hose you have." Gee this complimenting business sure is tricky. Perhaps if I get her talking about work things. "Are you a secretary? Or a receptionist?"

"No, I'm a fucking firefighter, you moron! Now put me down!"

Um... "Look, a shiny thing!" I distract her with my superpowers of distraction, because suddenly it seems I am required on the other side of town for a very important mission, and I must be leaving right about now, and I do not want her to get upset or anything, and anyway my work here is done, and.... stuff.

I slip away while nobody is watching, except for those policemen, but they are not very hard to lose because a second office building has suddenly burst into flames for no discernible reason. It's just a total coincidence that it happened right after my flamethrower roared into action. Anyway, the police are distracted by the fire, so I am able to slip away undetected...

But wait! There is a damsel in distress. The poor creature must be hysterical, for she seems to be running toward the fire. There is no time for me to work out why this secretary type is dressed in overalls, and why she is dragging a large hose-like object. No. There is rescuing to be done!

I leap into action like a leaping actionful thing.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #87

What doesn't kill me makes me want to eat pizza. Actually what does kill me also makes me want to eat pizza, but in advance. The ice-cream man should sell pizza.



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Sunday, March 19, 2006

The Fatal Wedding

The Fatal Wedding
by
Chad Morgan

The groom stood there waiting for his bride
The best man shiverin' by his side
On him the smell of stale sheep dip
And a flask of brandy on his hip

He knew he'd trod that last long mile
As his dear walked slowly down the isle
This was the day he was waiting for
When he'd get in for his cut and more

Of her old man's station and his gold
As soon as wedding bells had tolled
The fortune sure had smiled his way
This was indeed his lucky day

But the bride, she died at the alter
The bridegroom died next day
The parson dropped dead in the churchyard
As he was about to pray

The hearse capsized at the crossroads
It couldn't make the turn
And the people stood and cheered like mad
As they watched the old church burn

And then the heavens broke open
And the rain it started to fall
And the whole flamin' town got washed away
And there was no one le-eft at all...

Henry did not write this

The Wisdom of Henry #86

When the world seems like a cold, dark place just remember, you are not alone. Also remember that fire provides both heat and light, as well as a nifty way to dispose of your enemies. Fire is your friend.


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Also, don't forget to visit Miss Ann Thrope, if you haven't already. Or even if you have.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Henry and the Alien Invasion - Part two

I try turning the computer on and off a couple of times, but for some strange reason that fails to produce any results. Also my fingers get a bit burned on account of the flames coming out of the keyboard. They sure don't make them like they used to.

"Halt, feeble humanoid," calls out a voice in english. All aliens speak english, apparently, which is a real bonus when it comes to communicating with them. I spin to face my foe, who happens to look exactly like the aliens from The Simpsons, which goes to show just how twisted the universe really is, and definitely says nothing whatsoever about just how lazy I am. Kang, the alien, waves his tentacles about menacingly, as though he is trying to menace me in some way.

"You can menace me all you like, foul hell spawn," I announce bravely, "But whatever you do, don't take my super-encrypted highly top secret CD containing the secret of Earth's defences!"

"What did you say?"

"On second thoughts, here, take it. I am certain that your sadly ineffectual computers cannot possibly decode the secret of eternal youth, not to mention weapons beyond your wildest dreams." I toss over the CD.

"Ha!" snorts Kang, as he hands the disk to an underling, "We can easily defeat your pathetic encryption techniques, humanoid."

"Oh, damn. Such a fool I have been." My super powers of acting know no limits. Soon the aliens are concentrating on some kind of computer-like screen, until...

"Arrrrrrgh! Get it out of there, quick!"

"Bugger, it is too late!"

"No no, quick, call this number and tell them that you do not accept the terms and conditions. It is our only hope!"

"It is engaged! We're doomed!"

"What is this blue screen? Oh, no, we are spinning out of control. Inertial dampeners are not responding, Captain! She Canna take it."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrgh!"

That Windows XP sure is powerful stuff.

Friday, March 17, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #85

I've been called a fool, and that's ok, because, well, who's the bigger idiot - the idiot, or the idiot sayer who thinks the idiot is an idiot even though she, or possibly he, I'm not too sure.. even though they do that thing, and anyway, the world is round, you know. Which just goes to show that it takes one to know one.

Actually I'm pretty sure George Bush is the bigger idiot. And Little Johnny Howard. Possibly that guy... what's his name... Darl McBride. Yes, he'd be the one.

Henry and the Alien Invasion

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

In the distance I notice something suspicious. It is only my superhuman senses that allow me to detect the gigantic spacecraft that is hovering above the city and raining death and destruction on the central business district like an enormous killing machine raining death and destruction on the city below.

But I am not phased. I concentrate, clear my mind, focus only on the time-threads that I now dimly perceive as passing through me. Gently I reach out with my growing awareness and tug on several of the threads, like a seamstress gently tugging on one of those sewing related things.

Now I am thirty minutes in the past. I know exactly what I must do, because I have seen that movie, with that guy in it. I hurry inside, grab my laptop computer thingy, a Microsoft Windows XP CD, and a day-old slice of pizza - you know, for the trip. Then I jump into the nearest alien spacecraft, and before you know it I'm on the mother ship and plugging into some kind of data port. Funny, but it seemed to take a lot longer in the movie.

Anyway, the data port doesn't quite match my network cable, so I hammer it in with a hammer that just happens to be lying around on the alien spacecraft. This works wonderfully, at least to the degree that sparks and flames soon start pouring from my laptop. The alien ship seems relatively undamaged though, which is a pity.

I check my watch. In less that ten minutes the aliens will unleash their irresistable destructive force on an unsuspecting planet. Bugger. My brilliant brain furiously ponders the situation, searching for clues in all that has occurred, and in my surroundings, and in other movies that I have seen. I try not to think too much about the ending to Butch and Sundance. Pricilla, Queen of the Desert is also of limited helpfulness.

But wait! I have the perfect plan, which I will tell you about next time because I am lying about having a plan. In the meantime I recommend large quantities of alcohol.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #84

In desperation I called into the night, "Save me from this darkness, oh Lord!" But God was at the dentist. I left a message on his machine, and also sent a fax.

Deities are bastards when it comes to returning calls.

Henry and Miss Ann of the Sith

...I fall to the ground as though driven there by a large thing that is very heavy and has received a significant amount of assistance from gravity. As I slip into unconsciousness I feel a roaring rumbling vibration, as though my rocket lauchers have been accidently triggered somehow, and notice a massive explosion where the evil mind control mechanoid used to be, as though my rocket launchers have been accidentally triggered, somehow.

After some time there is awareness, slowly returning, and a presence.

"Fear not, grasshopper, for I will instruct you in the ways of the dark side."

"The dark side of what?" I ask, a slight hint of panic marring the strange serenity that envelops me. I hunt about for the disembodied voice, but I am blind.

"Whatever. Shut the fuck up and come here." I feel myself floating gracefully, then I feel myself stumbling and falling, gracefully smashing my face into something solid. "Open your eyes, for fuck's sake."

Oh, yeah. Suddenly I can see. We are at the scene of my recent battle - myself and a female person who I am not going to describe to you now on account of not being paid enough to write this crap. But you can go and see her here. Anyway, there is no time to lose, so, back to the real world...

It appears she has been speaking. "So," I exclaim, as I glance about at the largish crater strewn with robot parts, "Once more I have triumphed!"

"You were fucking lucky," she agrees, naturally, for I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, "But I can teach you all you need to defeat the dreaded mind-ray when next they attack. I can instruct you in the dark side!"

"I don't know..." I protest, because that doesn't sound very superheroic to me.

"Shut the fuck up, grasshopper, you fuckbag."

"Uh.... ok."

"No no no, now you call me a slut and tell me to piss off." She seems somehow exasperated, as though I am not getting something or other that I apparently should be getting.

"I can't say that!"

"Do you want to learn the dark side, or what?"

"No, not really."

"Well it's your fucking funeral, grasshopper, you moron." And then she is gone, suddenly, like some kind of disappearing magic thingy, and I am left wondering about the nature of reality, and the nature of humanity, and about the location of the nearest pizza joint.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #83

It is always darkest before the fat lady sings.

Also, it isn't over until Henry says it is over, dammit. Remember, I have the universe in my linen cupboard, and I'm not afraid to abuse it.

Henry and The Evil Mind Control Mechanoid

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

There is something different about the gleaming silver robot that confronts me now. Perhaps it is the way the monstrous creature does not appear to be shooting at me with nasty looking blasters of some kind and the way its face appears to be capable of several rudimentary expressions, including hatred, despite, anger, fury, vengeance, and one that looks kind of slightly amused in a sneering sort of way.

"You humans are so pathetic - I hate you all. Morons!" sneers the silver one, its voice also carrying slightly more expressiveness than I have previously encountered.

"So, evil misanthropic mechanoid, do you believe you can defeat me this time?" I do my best superhero pose, which is really impressive, and stuff. "Let us do battle, then!"

"Ha! I will not. You are unworthy. Pathetic humanoid creature. Perhaps if you had some kind of brain implanted in your nasty organic skull, and got some real weapons, I might consider crushing you brutally, like a real warrior. But no, you persist in being who you are - worthless, beneath contempt, animal." Something strange is happening to me. With each hate-filled phrase I feel the energy melting from my body, like some really soft stuff melting on a really hot day. "But, no, you are a worm, an insect, a pathetic lowlife moron who is really bad at simile and would not know a metaphor if it bit him on the arse."

I struggle to bring my rocket-launchers to bear, but my arms lack the strength even for this. I defiantly engage my super powers of heroic banter, however all that comes out is "Bad... robot... thingy..." If feel the life slipping from me. I silently curse the evil mind-control ray that is sapping my strength, leaving me feeble and without even a hint of un-feebleness.

"Down, inadequate humanoid!"

I fall to the ground as though driven there by a large thing that is very heavy and has received a significant amount of assistance from gravity. Unconsciousness approaches, like a deep, dark pool of being-asleep-ed-ness... I slip, and drown, and am gone.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #82

When life gives you lemons, you're probably a lemon farmer.

Miss Ann is not a lemon farmer, but don't take my word for it - go and see for yourself. Now. Don't make me get my axe.

The Wisdom of Henry #81

If there were more adequate people in the world, then the world would have more adequate people in it.

To increase your adequacy quotient, click here:
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Henry and the Neo Con

"Do not try to bend the spoon - that's impossible. Instead, only try to realize the truth."

"What truth?"

"That there is no spoon," explains the creepy bald-headed child.

"There is no spoon," contemplates the creepy dark-haired one.

"Then you will see that it is not the spoon that bends - it is only yourself."

"Oh, crap!" I grab the spoon from the annoying little prat and stab him in the eye with it. "See," I explain as blood gushes all over the place, "There is too a spoon."

"Hmmm," contemplates the creepy dark-haired one as he no doubt realizes that he has learned something very important - ie, that you can avoid writing anything new by just ripping some lines from a movie, "You are indeed wise, Mr..."

"Henry. Henry the Adequate, superhero."

"Are you the oracle?"

"Yes. Yes I surely am."

"Cool."

Monday, March 13, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #80

I met a man on the road and he said "Is this the road to Townsville?"

I said "No."

He said "Thank you very much."

There was going to be a point to this.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

The "What the hell is this supposed to be about" Post

Once upon a time, and for no readily apparent reason, there lived a small cartoon caricature called Timmy.

Timmy loved football, meat pies, and cartoon porn - particularly that Japanese stuff. One day, as Timmy prepared for his date with some Japanese sheila he'd met on the intraweb thingy, he realized that his blues seemed to be bleeding into the other colours and his private parts were all blurry and censoured-looking. Perhaps this was caused by an evil government plot to subvert the freedomness illustrations like Timmy have enjoyed for so long, or perhaps it was because of all the Japanese cartoon porn. If there was one thing Timmy was certain of, it was that evil government moles were watching his every move, mostly because of his ties to the revolutionary forces and his history of cartoon violence, but also because they really wanted to get their hands on some of his porn.

Ha! It would be a slightly less sweltering day in hell before this little two-dimensional pervert would give up a single scrap of titilation, no matter how badly drawn. And anyway...

It is at almost precisely this moment that Timmy the Deviant was cancelled to make way for Henry the Adequate, superhero, thereby proving once more what morons those morons in program planning are. To this day rare copies of Timmy the Deviant sell for almost twenty three cents in grotty little porn emporiums out back, behind the public toilets, just near the old railway line. You know the one.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #79

It isn't easy being famous. People always want stuff from you. "May I have your autograph?", "Will you sign my butt?", "Please please stop incinerating my family." Damn leeches.

Friday, March 10, 2006

Henry Incensed - Alternative Ending #2

..."Ha!" As though the evil fiend does not recognize me. Such foolishness, to think that she can fool Henry the Adequate, superhero. "I am Henry the Adequate, superhero!"

"Riiiight," she says, with a note of slightly extreme skepticism in her voice, "And I am Xena, Warrior of Incense!"

Finally, a worthy adversary. "I will crush you Xena, Warrior of Incense, and then I will find your masters, the Mystickal Incense Lords, and put and end to their evil plans for world domination!"

A look of surprise appears unexpectedly on her not-too-shabby features. "But I am also an enemy of the Mystickal Incense Lords."

"Oh," I converse skillfully in order to give myself time for my magnificent super-intellectulized brain to process whatever it was she just said... "So, evil Incense Lord minion, shall be fight?"

"I," she explains slowly, as though she were speaking with a complete moron, "am an enemy of the Mystickal Incense Lords."

"Oh... well... I am pleased to meet you, Xena, Warrior of Incense." I decide it must be time to turn on my suavitude powers.

"We already met. It's me, Stephanie. I gave you the stick of incense as a clue." I am beginning to suspect that we have met someplace before - perhaps even recently. Maybe I should use my super powers of investigation to solve this mystery. Yes, that sounds like a good idea.

"Have we met someplace before?" I enquire cleverly. It suddenly occurs to me that her name is probably Stephanie. That name sounds strangely familiar.

"You are a fool, Henry the Adequate."

"And you are an evil witch she devil. "

Then we are kissing passionately, followed by some noisy bonking, and if you are not into explicit porn then I suggest you stop reading right about here... For the rest of you, here are the extremely pornographic details...

"Oh, Henry!"

"Oh Stephanie!"

"Oh Henry!"

"Oh Stephanie!"

Oh Henry, Oh Stephanie, Oh Henry, Oh Stephanie, Oh Henry, Oh Stephanie...

"Pass the cigarettes."

"Sure."

"Got a light?"

"Are you kidding?" Does Henry the Adequate have a light? Surely she jests.

"Shit, you've set fire to the building!"

Um... We get the hell out of there. In hindsight it might have been a good idea to take our clothes.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #78

I felt sad because I had no shoes, until I met a man who gave me his. Actually, I'm surprised they survived the fire.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Henry Incensed - Alternative Ending

..."Ha!" As though the evil fiend does not recognize me. Such foolishness, to think that she can fool Henry the Adequate, superhero. "I am Henry the Adequate, superhero!"

"Riiiight," she says, with a note of slightly extreme skepticism in her voice, "And I am Xena, Warrior of Incense!"

Finally, a worthy adversary. "I will crush you Xena, Warrior of Incense, and then I will find your masters, the Mystickal Incense Lords, and put and end to their evil plans for world domination!"

Xena, Warrior of Incense, executes one of those acrobatic tumbling jumping thingys for which she is no doubt famous. For some reason I stand and watch her like a stunned fish of some kind, even though I already have my flamethrower pointed in her general direction and it is apparent to even the simplest of morons that she will land directly in the path of any raging torrent of flame I might deem it prudent to disgourge.

Nevertheless she lands safely, and before I choose to react I do find myself enveloped in a cloud of strange smelling vapor that somehow manages to send me into a state of extreme relaxation and pleasant feeling-good-edness.

"Hey, babe, how about a lap dance? This fighting stuff is soooo nineties." I am feeling muchly blissed out right about now.

**SLAP**

Now I remember her. This is indeed the almost exact same evil villainess as she who sold me the weird sticks with the secret message encoded in their molecular structure. Now doubt that was merely a clever plot designed to get me in this exact position. The exact position in which I am currently located seems to be right in the middle of some kind of groovy happiness cloud from which it seems there is no escape.

But no. I am Henry the Adequate, superhero, and there is not a cloud of vapor invented that can hold me for long! "Ha!" I exclaim cleverly, "There is not a cloud of vapor invented that can hold me for long!"

I prove this by falling heavily, jarring my elbow and accidentally discharging one of my rocket launchers in a direction generally referred to as "up". An instant later debris is raining down into the new cloud of acrid, foul smelling rocket exhaust which has for some reason chosen this moment to surround me. But I do not succumb to this new evil plot to render me blind and inadequate. These Mystical Incense Lords are so transparent in their attempts on my life that I laugh in their general direction. "Ha ha!" I laugh in the general direction of where I suspect Xena, Warrior of Incense, might currently be.

Then I notice that it is raining in this warehouse, possibly due to the massive hole that appears to have suddenly appeared in the ceiling for no readily apparent reason. The breeze, and the rain, work to rapidly dissipate the cloud that has surrounded me, which was my plan all along. "Now," I announce to the Xena person, "prepare for your inevitable destruction, fiend!". But she is gone.

Excellent. Another mystery solved. Another foe vanquished. I go home and watch some Xena on the TV. For some reason it seems vaguely familiar.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #77

A removalist is someone who specializes in removing money from your wallet. You are generally expected to help, and to provide beer at the end of the job.

Henry and the Clue

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

Today I have found a clue to the source of recent attacks on my person. The clue is subtle and could very easily be mistaken for yet another attack on my person - particularly due to all of the shooting and exploding and cries of "Die, Henry the Adequate, die!!"

But my exceptional brain allows me to see behind the fascade of mindless violence and naked agression, to fold back the veil of rampant hatred, and expose the deep-seated and cunningly disguised intelligence that is directing all of this other stuff that I have just referred at.

I dive for cover while simultaneously spraying the enemy with liquid fire and also priming my twin rocket launchers, and also wishing that just for once I could dive for cover onto a nice soft mattress instead of the concrete and/or asphalt that generally breaks my fall. My fall is then broken by asphalt that appears to have had a crate of bottles smashed onto it. The bottles may have contained acid of some kind, judging by the intense sensations that now greet me, mockingly, apparently making some kind of point about being grateful for what you have.

"Foolish Human," mocks the gleaming robot, mockingly, "Did you think that the mere destruction of the multiverse would halt the Robot League of Chaos!" This is the clue I have mentioned earlier, in case you hadn't noticed. I am uncertain what it means, but surely even such cryptic words cannot long withstand my amazing mental powers.

Then my rockets roar defiantly, and the robot disappears in a massive explosion. Behind me several cars are on fire, possibly due to the flaming exhaust from my rockets, or possibly due to some kind of spontaneous combustion. At this point the cause is vague and uncertain, and, anyway, who can say what is really real. Also, there is superheroing to be done, and I do not have time to stand around arguing over who is responsible for some kind of alleged wanton destruction which may or may not have occurred.

I use my super powers of being somplace else.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Henry Contemplates His Navel

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

I am a particularly fine superhero. My superheroness knows no bounds. Well, not many. My superheroness knows relatively few bounds, particularly when compared to other more boundful heroes...

I clear my head and focus on the matter at hand. Well, my head is almost clear. It is clearish. Perhaps if I can stop thinking about clearing my head...

The rhyme lord tells me that if I can master several highly advanced meditation techniques I may be able to gain control of my time-shifting affliction, and possibly also avoid having my brain explode all over the place. After careful consideration I have determined that this would be a good thing to avoid.

So, I clear my mind, which is extremely easy for me to do, on account of being a masterful superhero of stupendous proportions. Yes, soon I will have this head-clearning thing all worked out, and will then be ready to move onto the next stage of my lesson - which will no doubt involve some form of trial by fire, or maybe an extremely dangerous quest, or something. I am amazed at how clear my mind is becoming. Why with each passing moment it is emptier and emptier. Soon my head will be so empty I will look like a complete imbercile. I think only of the emptiness of my mind. And pizza. I think of pizza a bit too. But that is ok, because pizza is very important.

With a gargantuan effort I forcibly clear my mind of all thoughts of pizza. Well, most of them. How can I resist just the tiniest inkling of a notion of a desire for such cheesy goodness? No doubt that is just what the evil overlord slave-master fiends would want. Damn them.

I clear my mind of all thoughts of hideously evil overload slave-master fiends...

The Wisdom of Henry #76

The Internet is a special place, where everybody is beautiful and witty and polite, and nobody ever has to pee. You don't really need a computer to get on the internet - the government just wants you to think you need a computer, because of their evil secret agenda.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Henry Incensed

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

Today I am roaming the incense factory in search of supervillians. I am uncertain what these strange smelling sticks are meant to do. June tells me that they may hold the secret to personal happiness and wellbeing, and if that is the case then surely the evil criminal mastermind slave lords must be behind it all. Somehow. Or something like that.

But I have no time to wait for my ultra-turbocharged brain to work out exactly why I am here. I must act, now.

"Hey!" I appear to have been spotted, "You can't come back here."

I stand tall, legs spread, fists on hips, striking a superheroic pose designed to strike fear into the hearts of all who opopose me.

"Also," she continues, "Why are you wearing your boxer shorts on the outside?"

"Ha!" As though the evil fiend does not recognize me. Such foolishness, to think that she can fool Henry the Adequate, superhero. "I am Henry the Adequate, superhero!"

"Riiiight," she says, with a note of slightly extreme skepticism in her voice, "And I am Xena, Warrior of Incense!"

Finally, a worthy adversary. "I will crush you Xena, warrior of Incense, and then I will find your masters, the Mystickal Incense Lords, and put and end to their evil plans for world domination!"

"Well, Henry the Adequate, I will find these policeman here, who were notified when you broke into the building, and put an end to your whatever-it-is you're doing."

Um...

Friday, March 03, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #75

The imagination of man is limited only by what he thinks he can get away with, which is limited only by the imagination of woman.

This is a toll post - Be a good citizen and click here:

TFS 100 TopBlogs


And here. Remember, Henry is watching.

The Slightly More Cleverly Named Post

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

I am at The Seediest Bar in Seedsville, where my search for information continues. I must find out what happened to the monstrous mechanoid tank-like creature.

I buy a drink, because people feel more comfortable talking to you if you've got a drink. Fortunately alcohol has no effect on my superheroic constitution. "Excuse me, I'm looking for a mechanoid with really big..."

**SLAP** "Pervert!"

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a mechanical dude..."

**PUNCH** "Weirdo!"

"I suppose you don't want to see my rocket launcher then?"

**PUNCH**

I have a few more drinks. Or a few dozen. Something like that. The bar is dancing about like a swirling dancing thing. I think this is really cool.

"Excuse me, hello, my name is Stephanie." Using all my superior superhuman powers of focusing I manage to, um, focus on the auburn haired beauty that swims swimmingly before me. "Would you like to buy some incense?"

"Buy what?"

"Incense." This must be some strange code or something - probably means "lap dance".

"Sure, give it to me baby!" I toss her some cash and push my chair back to allow maximum access to my magnificent self, "And if you have any information on strange robotic thingys..." She gives me a weird look and hands over a couple of stick-like objects - presumably some kind of recording devices with the information I seek cunningly encoded in their molecular structure. For some reason I am having difficulty focusing my supermicroscopic x-ray vision at the moment. No matter. I shall save them for later.

"So, baby, about that lap dance."

**SLAP**

Thursday, March 02, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #74

A wise and ancient mystic - Ted, from Bondi - once suggested that the world was made up of billions of tiny grains of belief. Ted often said stuff like that, when we shared a flat back in the nineties. Then they locked him up.

Ted reckoned it was because he was a revolutionary, but I rather thought it had something to do with the stuff he was growing in the shed out back.

Please click Here to visit my new tenant "Mystical Incense and More". Seriously. I have an axe. And a flamethrower. You do not want to mess with me.

The Rather Carelessly Named Post

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

I wake, noticing several things almost immediately, due to my superior perceptiveness. The first thing I notice is that my head hurts. The second thing I notice is that much of the rest of me also hurts. Then it becomes apparent that I am outside, on the footpath, and that people are giving me some very strange looks, as though I have appeared from nowhere just like some kind of randomly appearing thing.

From this I deduce that perhaps I time shifted while unconscious, which might explain the lack of paramedics attending my wounds. Also, now that I mention it, there seems to be a lack of wreckage strewn about - specifically the wreckage of a massive mechanoid tank-like monster. I struggle to my feet, like a boxer who has just been knocked down, and possibly received a massive electrical shock.

"Excuse me," I approach a passing pedestrian, using all my powers of politeness, "Have you seem a massive mechanoidal monstrosity?"

"I am a deeply shallow person, now go away or I'll be fabulous at you," she replies, as though she is speaking to some kind of moron.

It is probably a good thing that she storms off at this point, since, you know, that was a slightly weird thing to say, in much the same way as "They hate our freedom" might be a slightly weird thing to say. Actually it wasn't quite that weird. I decide to try again.

"Excuse me. Have you seen a massive mechanoidal monstrosity?"

"Was it
simple yet complex, sane yet slightly unstable, evil yet almost too kind?" replies the guy with the strange skin condition. I wonder if I have accidentally wandered into the Nuttersville annual nutters convention.

"No, it wasn't like that at all."

"Sorry." He shrugs and continues on his way.

"Excuse me. Have you seen a massive mechanoidal monstrosity?"

"Henry!"

"Oh, hi June."

"As a matter of fact I did just see a weird tank-like thing. It was hideous. Truly hideous," June remarks helpfully.

"Really?"

"No, but I will look for one, if you like."

"Yes, that would be good." All of a sudden it occurs to me that I know the perfect place to continue my quest for knowledge. Well, certainly it would be no worse than this place is turning out to be.

I head for The Seediest Bar In Seedsville.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The Wisdom of Henry #73

Do not name your child "waterfall" or "sunshine". Seriously. I have an axe.

The Really Quite Interesting Post In Which Henry Triumphs Over the Mechanoid

...the mechanoid is undamaged, its main gun finally aimed directly at my house, small calibre weapons preparing to cut me to pieces, robotic brain no doubt concocting some fiendish taunt to hurl at my lifeless body as it is cut to shreds by a hail of hot lead.

I search my amazing brain for the correct response. Ah, there it is. "Bugger," I say with much cleverness, while simultaneously using my amazing powers of cut and paste to avoid writing any new stuff.

Suddenly there is a deafening crash. It appears a power pole has been felled by my miniature rockets. There is a tremedous electrical discharge as the line lays itself down accross the evil mechanoid monster. Chain lightning arcs impressively about the beast, like some kind of thing that is kind of like chain lightning arcing impressively about a monstrous mechanoid tank-like creature.

My super powers of metaphoricalizing fail me at this most inopportune moment due to the amazing spectacle that assails my senses, and also because of the tremendous electrical discharge that arcs spectacularly accross my body.

"Ouch," I remark casually as my body sails through the air and lands in a crumpled heap on the footpath. I am blissfully unaware of this, and of the extreme pain, since my awareness seems to have just popped off down to the pub for a beer, and is currently chatting up the disembodied spirit of that actress chick from that show - you know the one.

"So," she says, "Where are you from?"

"Anywhere but here." We nod knowingly a shared moment as the scene fades to nothingness.