Being
rather fortunate in his youth, Henry found himself with parents that had
managed to do quite well for themselves, in the business of being monarchy.
They handed their empire over to their son and ruled alongside him for
many a year. The royalness industry took a huge upswing when a local Brit
pop rapper of the time, 'Cod-Peece', played the part of King Henry in
commercials that featured up and down the theaters of greater London.
Calling himself 'Krazy Henry', Cod-Peece would delight the crowds with
such epic lines as 'With a hey, hi, fiddle dee dee, dost thou get jiggy
with thyself!'. It was a huge success, and King Henry invested this wealth
he earned off of Mr. Peece's performances into the technology of blast
furnacing, helping to launch the new 'personal' cannon craze. Before then,
a cannon had to be carried by over 100 people, but now, thanks to his
science, a paltry dozen could lift, move, and fire one with only several
hours required between loadings. This was considered ideal for parties.
It was such a huge success with the naval frat boys that King Henry was
quickly rolling in dough. But he couldn't resist dipping into the businesses
treasury to fund his outrageous gambling and womanizing (hobbies that
Henry did not keep mutually exclusive, as shown by the 'Flexible Nancy
the Gobbler' bet of 1530).
Unfortunately, his insidious actions eventually gained the interest of
the Pope, who declared that Henry should 'bow down and give him 50". But
rather than run, Henry declared Catholicism a crime and would often hold
his fingers in his ears whenever anyone spoke about religion, shouting:
"I can't hear you, the Pope's not real, la la la la la". Eventually the
woman-beheading and religious ignorance caught up with him, as the piling
lawsuits for 'improper removal of wife's neck from shoulders' began to
pile up. He decided to take the honest way out, becoming a government
snitch and planting the whole mess on his brother and parents, who were
executed by hot, slippery mongoose (mongooses? mongoosen? mongeese?).
Considered a villain by those who knew him, his image was saved posthumously
because of his friendship with a local historian who would tell the world
of his good deeds (and amazing deals on trebuchets!) These tales of incredible
bargains remain the sole artifact of the degenerate scumbag who would
sooner pay you 5 crowns to watch you pluck a cherry from a wench's gluteal
region than bid you 'Good day'.
And with that, we bid you 'Good day'. We are off to go pluck some cherries...
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