Horrid Henry Rocks Read Online Free

Terminator Gladiator would be principal.

    Henry looked at the clock. How could it be only 9:42? It felt like he’d been sitting here for ages. What he’d give to be lounging right now on the comfy black chair, eating chips and watching Hog House …
    â€œToday we have a very exciting project,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
    Henry groaned. Miss Battle-Axe’s idea of an exciting project and his were never the same. An exciting project would be building a time machine, or a “let’s see who can give Henry the most chocolate” competition, or counting how many times he could hit Miss Battle-Axe with a water balloon.

    â€œWe’ll be writing autobiographies,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
    Ha. He knew it would be something boring. Horrid Henry hated writing. All that pushing a pen across a piece of paper. Writing always made his hand ache. Writing was hard, heavy work. Why did Miss Battle-Axe try to torture him every day? Didn’t she have anything better to do? Henry groaned again.
    â€œAn autobiography means the story of your life,” continued Miss Battle-Axe, glaring at him with her evil red eyes. “Everyone will write a page about themselves and all the interesting things they’ve done.”
    Yawn. Could his life get any worse?
    Write a page? A whole entire page? What could be more boring then writing on and on about himself—
    Wait a minute.
    He got to write…about himself? The world’s most fascinating boy? He could write for hours about himself! Days. Weeks. Years. Hold on…what was batty old Miss Battle-Axe saying now?
    â€œâ€¦the really exciting part is that our autobiographies will be published in the local newspaper next week.”
    Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow! His autobiography would be published!
    This was his chance to tell the world all about being Lord High Excellent Majesty of the Purple Hand Gang. How he’d vanquished so many evil enemies. All the brilliant tricks he’d played on Peter. He’d write about the Mega-Mean Time Machine. And the Fangmangler. And the millions of times he’d defeated the Secret Club and squished Moody Margaret to a pulp! And oh yes, he’d be sure to include the time he’d turned his one line in the school play into a starring part and scored the winning goal in the class soccer game. But one page would barely cover one day in his life. He needed hundreds of pages…no, thousands of pages to write about just some of his top triumphs.
    Where to begin?
    â€œLet’s start with you, Clare,” burbled Miss Battle-Axe. “What would you put in your autobiography?”
    Clare beamed. “I walked when I was four months old, learned to read when I was two, did long division when I was three, built my first telescope when I was four, composed a symphony—”

    â€œThank you, Clare, I’m sure everyone will look forward to learning more about you,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Steven. What will—”
    â€œCan’t we just get started?” shouted Henry. “I’ve got masses to write.”
    â€œAs I was saying, before I was so RUDELY interrupted,” said Miss Battle-Axe, glaring, “Steven, what will you be writing about in your autobiography?”
    â€œBeing a caveman,” grunted Stone-Age Steven. “Uggg.”
    â€œFascinating,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Bert! What’s interesting about your life?”
    â€œI dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

    â€œRight, then, everyone get to work,” said Miss Battle-Axe, fixing Horrid Henry with her basilisk stare.
    Horrid Henry wrote until his hand ached. But he’d barely got to the time he tricked Margaret into eating glop before Miss Battle-Axe ordered everyone to stop.
    â€œBut I haven’t finished!” shouted Horrid Henry.
    â€œTough,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Now, before we send these autobiographies to the newspaper, I’d like a few of you to read yours aloud