Ever since the tomb of Tutankhamen was discovered in 1922, rumors have circulated of a mummy curse that plagued all who entered the tomb. While it is may seem peculiar that all men and women who entered the tomb are now dead, some may be shocked to learn that this is not such an uncommon experience among humans.
Though debate has been fierce among experts on the topic, I can safely say that no such curse ever existed. How do I know? Well, no doubt you guessed from my appearance that I am the embalmed remains of King Tutankhamen himself. (I know, spooky, right?)
Yes, it is I, the actual mummy in question; right here in the flesh (or rather, in the delicately-preserved-yet-still-quite-decayed flesh). And I am here to tell you with absolute certainty that I did not “curse” anyone.
I mean, I think I’d remember placing a curse on my own tomb. True, my brain was pulled out through my nose and removed during the embalming process, so technically there may be some memory loss. But I don’t think you all understand the amount of effort that goes into placing a mummy’s curse. I won’t go into any details, but let’s just say it would be pretty tough to forget about rolling around in a pile of goat entrails while reciting an enchanted incantation at the top of my lungs (note: my lungs were also removed).
So while no curse exists, I will go ahead and admit that I’ve played more than my fair share of pranks. For example, I wrote on the walls of my tomb that I “was a gifted lover” (full disclosure: I died a virgin). Also, one time I threw a pie into the face of Lord Carnarvon when he wasn’t looking – he blamed Howard Carter; fun times.
I’m sure you will not fault me for such shenanigans. For one, it can get pretty boring being buried in a tomb for all eternity. For two, I’m a teenager, so come on, cut me some slack.
Speaking of all eternity, that’s the REAL mummy’s curse. You know that whole afterlife with the gods idea us Egyptians had? Yeah, well it turns out it’s not true. So instead of living it up with Ra and Osiris in the afterlife, I’m stuck down there with a bunch of canisters filled with rotten food and dead slaves.
Honestly, I was relieved when those archaeologists desecrated my holy burial site and began ransacking my jewelry and personal belongings. “Now’s my chance to escape,” I thought to myself. But no matter how many times I threw on a pair of sunglasses and tried to slip out with a tour group, it never seemed to pan out (curse the buddy system).
Thank Anubis they finally cracked open my coffin and pulled me out of there. While I can’t say lying perfectly still in a glass box at a museum while people gawk at me is my idea of Aaru (heaven), at least I can do some people-watching these days (hello, ladies!).
But now I think the time has come for me to get on with my life. So please, don’t think of me as an enchanted monster with an unholy bestowment of consciousness. Think of me as an average teenager. I don’t want to harm you. I just want to eat Totino’s Pizza Rolls, go skateboarding and read those Twilight novels I’ve heard so much about.
And if any of you museum folk have a problem with that, well then, I’ve got a pile of goat entrails out back that I’ve just been itching to roll round in.
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