Saturday, April 7, 2007

A King for a Lifetime

Okay, so I went to the King Tut exhibit at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, and it was full of stupid children and obnoxious mothers, but the artifacts were nice to look at. But I kept wondering, why does anybody care about this guy, anyway? He died at 19. He didn't accomplish much.

Then after some digging and dissecting, I realized something: by the time he was 14, he had a harem. Let me repeat this with bold and italics and caps: BY THE TIME HE WAS 14, HE HAD A HAREM. Of chicks! Some did that thing with their hips that he liked. Some did that thing with their mouths that he liked. Hell, all of them did whatever he demanded any time all the time. If he wanted some Ovaltine, one poured the milk and the other stirred with the spoon. When he wanted the TV channel changed, he didn't have to use a friggin' clicker, oh no. He clapped his hands. Bitch get me a salad, bitch blend me a strawberry daiquiri, bitch I'm out of CD-Rs go run to Staples I don't care if the Chariot is broken walk goddamn it. It's sandy and hot outside? No shit, we're in fucking Egypt.

In a way, this is a little disheartening. I'm bunches older than he ever was and never had a harem. I mean, what am I doing with my time, anyway? If I did have a harem, I'll guarantee you this: they'll most certainly have an exhibit about me in 400 years or so. They'll worship me with candles and big ass murals. Smelly kids and their cunt mothers will pay good money to see the Matt Exhibit.

I have to do a few things first, of course. I have to convince my Grammy to make space for them in the cellar. Then I'll have to ask Mom and Dad for permission to convert our home into a brothel. They freaked when I wanted to bring home a pet cat, imagine five to ten young women of various sexual abilities sitting around the house, looking bored. I'm sure my whores will be using up all my bandwidth with their laptops and AIM and iTunes, and eating all my whole grain foods and drinking all of my Diet Coke. I'm not sure when I'll get into the bathroom to take a shower. I'll never be able to use my car, since they'll always need to go to the mall to buy pants. Forget about using the phone, because they'll be hogging the land line while running up the cell phone minutes I'll no doubt be paying for. They won't like the music I listen to, and probably pawn all my CDs and DVDs for whatever pop twaddle whores listen and swing on the poles to. They'll never let me watch ice hockey or the Cartoon Network or CNN, because they'll tell me that "crap" is for "fags and retards."

... sigh. I give up. It won't work. It was a different age ... a different time. King Tut, I look to you with awe. You wouldn't let your harem take over. You'd whip those hoes with coat hangers until they didn't know any better. Those that didn't listen would have gotten sold for useful things, like rope or cocaine or camels. That's why I paid $40 to see your necklaces and gold daggers and the containers where they kept your internal organs. Because your rotting liver is ten times the man I'll ever be.

History. I'm learnings it somethings good.