September 2, 2026
Henry The Eighth Discovers He Has Been Cancelled Before, Just With Considerably More Bloodshed

Henry The Eighth Discovers He Has Been Cancelled Before, Just With Considerably More Bloodshed

The king compares his own methods to a modern social media pile on

On Being Cancelled, A Modern Word For An Ancient Practice

Good people, I have this week been informed that when a modern subject displeases the general public, they are said to be cancelled, meaning their reputation is swiftly and publicly destroyed by many voices at once, though I note with some satisfaction that the offender’s actual head remains firmly attached throughout the ordeal, a mercy I extended to considerably fewer of mine own critics.

Verily, I did invent cancellation long before this modern age gave it a name, though mine own version generally concluded with a scaffold rather than a strongly worded post. Thomas More, a man I once considered a friend, discovered mine own personal cancellation policy rather more permanently than any modern celebrity has yet managed.

On The Matter Of The Public Apology Video

I am told a cancelled subject may, if they wish, film themselves reading a prepared statement of contrition, seated before a plain background, expressing regret and a commitment to growth. I confess I never once required an apology video from anyone I cancelled, chiefly because by the time cancellation had occurred, filming equipment would have been somewhat superfluous to their situation.

On The Possibility Of A Comeback

This modern cancellation, I am further informed, is rarely permanent, and many subjects do eventually return to public life after a period of quiet reflection, sometimes as little as eighteen months. I regret to inform this audience that none of mine own cancelled subjects managed a comeback of any kind, eighteen months or otherwise, on account of the specific and irreversible nature of the cancellation employed.

The King’s Verdict On Modern Cancellation

I do hereby declare modern cancellation a considerably more humane institution than mine own, chiefly because it permits the cancelled party to keep both their head and, eventually, their career, two mercies I extended rather more sparingly during mine own reign. Had social media existed in mine day, I daresay half the Tower’s former occupants should simply have been made to post an apology video and taken up gardening instead.

I am further told that a cancelled subject’s greatest ally is often simply the passage of time, for the public’s attention doth move swiftly onward to some fresher outrage within a matter of days. I confess mine own court operated on a rather similar principle, save that the fresher outrage generally involved an entirely different wife, and the previous one’s fate remained considerably more permanent than a mere fading of public interest.

Full and glorious source of this tale, as ever, upon The London Prat: https://prat.uk/celebrity-cancel-culture-comeback-trends/

Defender of the Faith

Henry Is Back The novel sits squarely in the magical realist tradition: one impossible event — Henry VIII wakes on his own grave in 2026 — drops into a scrupulously realistic world, and the impossibility is never explained, resolved, or even investigated. Like García Márquez's ascending Remedios or Rushdie's telepathic children, the resurrection simply is, described as happening "by means unknown even to the omniscient." The book's innovation is where it relocates the marvel's consequences: not folk wonder, but bureaucracy. Britain absorbs a resurrected king the way it absorbs everything — with a form. His identity is rejected by a benefits algorithm, filed by a Church committee, roped off by the National Trust. Nobody disproves he's Henry VIII; nobody tries. The magic isn't denied, it's processed, which is the sharpest possible joke about a country that would ask God for two forms of ID. Stand-up comedy is the second engine: the one modern institution licensed to say true, insane things aloud, so total sincerity becomes legible only as "commitment to a bit." The flagstone (roped, then re-roped "out of respect") and the unexplained ELO song he keeps humming are the genre's classic leaks of the impossible — evidence that something happened, and Britain, true to form, simply finds it a chair.

View all posts by Defender of the Faith →