The most unpleasant, precarious and downright stupid immortality blueprint was drafted by the ancient Egyptians. First you had to get yourself mummified and that was very expensive, making immortality a monopoly of the truly rich, then your continued immortality in the Western lands is entirely dependant on the continual existence of your mummy, and that is why they had their mummies hid good.
Now here’s this plain G.I. Allie and he’s got enough boracca, enough energy to survive his first physical death, but he won’t get far. He’s got no mummy, he’s got no names, he’s got nothing! What happens to a bum like that? A nameless mummyless asshole? Why, demons will swarm all over him at the first checkpoint, he will be dismembered and thrown into a flaming pit where his soul will be utterly consumed and destroyed. While others with sound mummies, and the right names to drop in the right places, sail through to the Western lands. There are, of course some who just barely squeeze through, their mummies is not in good sound condition. These creeps can only live in the third rate transient hotels just beyond the last checkpoint where they can smell the charnel house disposal ovens from their skimpy balconies. “Might as well face facts, my mummy is going down hill. I don’t even feel like a human, cheap job to begin with. God, maggots is crawling all over, the way that demon guard looked at me this morning…” Transient hotels.Here you are in a luxury condo deep in the Western land, you got no security, some disgruntled former employee sneaks into your tomb, throws acid on your mummy. Slosh gasoline all over and burn the shit out of it. “oooh someone is fucking with my mummy!” Why, you are fucked! Lets face it – mummies are sitting ducks. No matter who you are what can happen to your mummy is a Pharaoh’s nightmare floods, volcanoes, earthquakes. Perhaps a mummy’s best friend is an Egyptologist. In museums they are safe from spiteful enemies, grave robbers and scavengers, and kept at a constant temperature, but – “air raid sirens, it’s the blitz… for Ra’s sake, get us into the vaults!” scream the mummies, without a throat, without a tongue. “By Allah I can’t decide, the deal stinks like a dead camel, long dead, anyone buy on to a deal like that should have his mummy examined! Don’t take us for dumber than we look, the Johnsons is taken over the Western lands! We bought it, we built it, we paid for it, it’s ours, and we’re going to take it!”
William S Burroughs, The Western Lands