Four varieties of Henstoat

There are four main varieties of Henstoat, and they are as
follows:

Doctor Henstoat - the scourge of message boards and mailing lists the
world over. A rigidly mathematical and humourless character, interested
only in the truth and the solution, and vengeful towards those who
attempt to pervert it. Wishes to pose as a 57 year old in order to cut
down on the ageist crap, and generally surprised whenever anyone agrees
with him, since his analysis of mankind is so negative that he expects
to be burnt as a witch half the time. He hasn't got time for the
pathetic 'Mister Henstoat' and doesn't listen to 'Captain Henstoat.' He
has many enemies, but also a good handful of secret allies who say that
he is brave and intelligent.

Mister Henstoat - A small and generally nervous character who looks and
sounds unattractive and stupid. He goes out for a driving lesson once a
week or so and feels like an idiot for not having passed the test yet.
Outclassed by everyone and afraid of the world, he wishes only to be
left alone, resenting the way the others draw attention to him.

Captain Henstoat - A confident and handsome lover of people, who
extends his sympathy to everyone within reach and wants only to hold
hands with the whole world, listen to its fears and understand
everything. His attitude has won him the love of a wonderful gal and a
whole brace of close friends, and he wishes to heck that Doctor
Henstoat would give up his campaigns, since he despises vengeance and
hate.

Monsieur Henstoat - is none other than I, the poet. I think humans are
a load of entertaining clowns, and laugh at their every conceit. I also
like my fellow Henstoats, since they're so diverse and ridiculous,
whilst managing to achieve great things. They provide me with plenty of
inspiration - in return, I sometimes take up their causes and lend them
my lexicon. A tale or two praising the good Captain's friends, a few
words decapitating the Doctor's enemies, and a good handful of poems
that sympathise with Mister Henstoat's plight - never forgetting, of
course, to pepper it with my own sense of humour!

Some day they may invent a machine to separate the Henstoats. Until
then, we're trapped in the same mortal shell, and must learn to
coexist. I, for one, am sure we'll have a fantacantasical time. Now
away with me.