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Published on: 6/21/2008
Last Visited: 7/5/2009
Ladies, gentlemen, and all the sentient ships at sea, the person who arranged for the Lou Ferrigno call was Atlanta's impishly playful Henry Owings, publisher of Chunklet magazine and one of the people Patton employs when he needs to give some enemy a "tune-up."
As part of my tirelessly transparent quest to prove that brain surgery has not rendered me a drooling 'tard, I proofread (over the phone) a rather extensive and complicated Chunklet piece for Henry the other day, fairly blowing his mind with my steamrollering anality and thoroughness.
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Henry is one of the planet's noblest and most gifted creatures and has the distinction of being the only man with whom I have ever tipped over, slapstick style, in a moving canoe.
His matchless sense of humor is epic in scope and though his life moves at a demanding and furious pace, he is always eagerly anticipating his next artistic challenge.
He's so modest and forward thinking that he never even mentions his recent Grammy Award nomination for a devilishly clever CD package design ... an honor most other industry folk would have emblazoned on their forehead.
When our big, aging pooch Blue keeled over from a congenital heart ailment years ago, I found myself frantically struggling to lift her with a gimpy arm I had just severely injured in a car wreck.
Mighty Henry dashed over and swept me aside ... he scooped up Blue, whisked her to a distant vehicle and gently placed her inside.
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Henry Owings, or "Henri," as I call him, contributed many of the fake songs and bands in the credits of the last Crap Hound.
He's an officer and a gentleman.
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That Henry, huh?
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I proofread (over the phone) a rather extensive and complicated Chunklet piece for Henry the other day, fairly blowing his mind with my steamrollering anality and thoroughness.