Pharaoh sneaks into Dublin

Dog Rough – an occasional sketch

Sniffing around with Skratcher O Fleazy, reporter

(This little piece was written in February 2011, while Eygpt was in the throes of its Arab Spring and Ireland was immersed in its General Election campaign. The Pharaoh Tutunkhamun (King Tut) exhibition was due to open at the RDS – Royal Dublin Society premises.)

Pharoah Hound – Wasn’t found!

I bumped into me auld mutt Pepper the other day who asked me if I still had some contacts in the Press. Curious, I asked what he had for me and promised if it was good enough, I’d see if we could get it into print.

Swearing faithfully not to reveal his sources, he dropped two crumpled soggy pieces of papyrus from his mouth and asked me to read it. He told me that he found it at the RDS, when he was on his rounds sussing out the Dublin 4 area, marking lamp posts and smelling other dogs bums.

Mystified by these documents, both written in hieroglyphs, I contacted our in-house Egyptologist, Carter el Beradi. He took it down to the staff cloakroom where he worked. He spent the night translating them, between retrieving staff clothing or bags.

This is the result of his endeavours, which our Editor deemed worthy of immediate publication:-

Page 1. (On the official papyrus of Pharaoh Tutankhamun)

Diary entry for Tueday 15th  February 2011

5.30am– Arrived with minions off Stranraer – Larne Ro-Ro ferry on the sarcophabus, after dodging protests at Leeds/Bradford airport. No sign of Islamic Brotherhood in Northern Ireland.

8.00am– Stopped in Dundalk for large Irish breakfast. Hairy guy with Belfast accent at next table, surrounded by rough looking security men, told me he had never been in the IRA – hadn’t a clue what he was on about. Harem girls thought he was a bit common and the fry was much the same. Still haven’t told them about the bit of populist fuss back home.

Aanagh pretty Nubian slave

9.30am –  My pretty Private Secretary, the Nubian Aanah, made contact on Skype with our Head of Administration back home, the minor God, Hosni Muberak. Big news – he’s now in the Palace nursing home at Sharm el Sheik after standing down, with loyal troops guarding the perimeter. Health is poor and doctors are keeping a close eye on him. Says our once loyal army are handing power over to the peasants. Traitors.

Due to this crisis, I asked to speak with him privately – our billions are a sensitive issue, all 70 of them. Hosni assured me it was all being converted into gold bullion, so that he can be buried in similar style to myself. He has his eye on a plot of ground in Iran to build his pyramid. I wished him well – us Gods are not well understood by the common folk.

13.30 – Arrived Dublin, bones aching after hours buried in back of that damned sarcophabus to avoid the paparazzi.

Aanagh supervises slave beauticians

15.30 – Enjoyed my daily appointment with the travelling beauticians – manicure, pedicure, mummy massage, facial and organ cleansing.

17.00 – All the imitation gold and semi-precious metals were polished, slaves worked flat out. Took a few aside for a whipping by my faithful slavemaster Nubani to keep them on their toes – kills the boredom of watching them work.

19.30 – My Secretary Aanah had me booked in for a meal at the Four Seasons with a local nobody by the cartouche Enda Kenny. Kept talking about some stupid five point plan, must have mentioned it at least 15 times. Said he’d be the man shortly and wanted to know if I’d give him a haircut, something to do with Bondage. She should know I’m not into that S & M stuff, so I dismissed the little blonde upstart. 

22.00 – Dropped into my harem on the top floor of the Berkeley Court hotel. Would you believe, to a woman (and girl too) they refused to have sex with their God. After torturing the cute one with blonde hair called Ivana, we discovered some local hack by the cartouche Fintan O Tool had dropped in to interview them and filled them in on the peasant uprising back in Egypt. They decided to have a sex strike in solidarity with the upstarts at home. Desperate, I summoned Aanah to my executive suite but she refused saying she had a headache from all the travelling.

Page 2. (On the official papyrus of Pharaoh Tutankhamun)

Wednesday 16th February 2011

Imitation sarcophagus

09.00 – Big day today, we are opening in the Industries Hall at the RDS,Dublin. Have a splitting headache after first night without sex since age 9. Will have to resort to some of the man slaves if this keeps up, wouldn’t do for word to get back that I swing both ways.

King Tut's imitation mummy

10.00 – Make up and support staff have me all spruced up for the exhibition. Pain in the ass as far as I’m concerned, lying around all day while plebs of all shapes and sizes come to ogle my imitation plastic treasures. That blasted nuisance Howard Carter started all this when he disturbed my peace in 1922, life has never been the same since. So what if I’m one of the most recognisable images in the world.

Pharoah expresses his displeasure

16.00 – Nubani, my slave master, tells me that he has been advised that several countries around the Arab world are revolting against their leaders and that my stable of slaves are looking for certificates of freedom and redundancy payoffs from me, including himself. I made the mistake of giving him the PINs for my Swiss Bank accounts – Gods can’t be expected to retain all these petty details. Now, the cheek of him, he’s threatening me and knows I can do nothing while stuck in this fancy fake sarcophagus. And to make it worse, Hosni has lost control of my once loyal army and secret police so there is no one to sort out these insolent twerps that I saved from abject poverty.

20.00 – Last of the plebs finally left the RDS, what a miserable day – headache is worse, no hope of relief from the harem or slaves. Must see if Aanah can find a local defrocked priest for some of his young contacts. Now the beauticians are also on strike, will have to send for my sister wife to calm my nerves and relieve this sexual tension. Take away dinner from someone of the cartouche Mc Donalds – their lion meat tastes like papyrus with mayonnaise and onion.

22.00 – No joy on young boy front either, second night of abstinence in a row, must Google how to do hand job. What a disaster, deep depression setting in on Dublin 4. Note to one’s self – will commission a 36 floor skyscraper for first man who can find a replacement harem of nubile girls. Must try this local black drink for sleep potion, hear good reports of it’s health giving properties. Got bad news about situation in neighbouring province Bahrain, their black gold is not keeping the plebs happy either, maybe another uprising on the way. What’s the world coming to, nobody seems to respect good old fashioned law and order anymore.

End of diary extract.

(Editor’s note: – Bearded man refers to Sinn Fein politician by cartouche of Gerry Adams.)

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