When You Could Leave Your Pyramid Door Unlocked

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Nostalgia is a growing business in these troubled times. How often have you found yourself saying, "By Jingo, this suit cost me an arm and a leg, and now that's all that's left of the thing"? I haven't myself, but you may have. Don't we all pine for a time when the world seemed safer, the nights warmer, and we weren't being constantly pounced upon by terrifying mutant insects? I know I do. This atmosphere of yearning leads our minds to wander back to earlier periods in our lives when someone was always there to chase those blues away. In my case it was Ray Charles, but not everyone has my fantastic wealth. I was lucky; my father being an international jewel thief, mobster and part-time accordionist, we could afford Ray Charles. "Son," he used to say, "son, take off that bra and let's hear no more of this nonsense." But I digress.

Now, to the point! Here's a piece I wrote for the “Cairo Observer And False Teeth Companion,“ just after the return of the mummy, Jim Hotep, from three thousand years of exile in the twilight world. It reminds us of the sense of safety we felt when, as small children, we had someone covered in rotten bandages to look after us, and felt the safer for it. You don't remember? Read on...

Cairo Observer, June 1924

"The Mumm” - Jim Hotep of Egypt - has returned. After a curse was put on Hotep which condemned him to wander around buildings, wear bandages and strangle people he wasn't keen on for three thousand years, he has decided to give it all up for a job as a librarian.

"It was becoming rather monotonous," said a remarkably clear-speaking Hotep, talking through ancient rags which have covered his mouth for millennia. "One can only do that sort of thing for a while before it gets a trifle dull. It's a rather foolish pursuit anyway; but what could I do? The dullard who cursed me left me with no option."

Hotep was left to wander the twilight world twixt life and death by Pharaoh Thothmes The Weird, after being caught “in flagrante delicto” with one of Thothmes' servant girls and an urn of linseed oil. "I was merely trying to help her with her odious chores," said the unrepentant Accursed One. "She plainly loathed doing the damned things, so I was giving her a hand. In bursts some barmy High Priest with a gaggle of itinerant eunuchs, and the last thing I remember is being wrapped in bandages, with the priest doing his nut over something or other. They even stamped on a new fez I'd recently acquired, and ruined the rim."

Hotep, looking remarkably fit for a man riddled with flesh-eating scarabs, has written a letter of complaint to the United Nations Commission On Human Rights over his treatment: "I protested in the boldest terms that the sentence had been overlooked for far too long. You can't expect a chap to readjust to modern life, after scurrying around a pyramid wearing nothing but filthy remnants for thousands of years. It's simply not on."

Hotep is keen to get back to full fitness, and lead Egypt to greater things: "I've had a gym installed in my sarcophagus, and work out every morning. I lift fifty blocks of granite, hewn from quarries by undernourished slaves, do thirty press-ups, then go for breakfast with the undernourished slaves. Boy, can they eat. Anyway, old chap - must be going. These senna pods keep you on the move."

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