World renown archaeologist/grave robber Mississippi Franks crept through the musty catacombs. The passage ahead was as black as the depths but the torch in his hand illuminated its ornately carved walls. Strange runes surrounded him, each appearing to be formed by one or a pair of hands. Mississippi could read them but didn’t have time to stop and lament over the tragic life of a long dead king or plod through yet another flood story. His goal lay far deeper into the tomb, so he pressed on.
A complex tangle of cobwebs dangled from the passage way’s low ceiling. Mississippi touched them with the flame of his torch and his path was engulfed in a roaring blaze, ending 20 or 30 paces ahead. Finally, he thought, now I’m getting somewhere. He inched farther on, the walls drawing closer and closer until there was barely enough space to breathe, but he reached the end and wiggled free.
His torch clattered to the ground, snuffing out the flame. He reached toward the dying embers and relit the torch. A circle of light emanated from him and he could see that the claustrophobic walls of the entrance were replaced by a seemingly impermeable veil of darkness. He crept forward, gaze transfixed on the ground in search of an odd looking tile or tripwire, but reached a small stone pillar without spikes coming from the floor or a giant boulder falling on his head. He inspected the column, which was about two feet tall and crowned with a mass of dried plant matter. Against his better judgement, Mississippi plunged his torch into the tinder.
Flame surged through the column and came up from the ground at its sides. The fire spread evenly on both sides, branching off in intricate, snaking paths and coiling toward the sky up withered stone pillars. On a dais in the center of the room sat some sort of altar, golden in complexion and draped with tattered violet cloth. Mississippi crept forward. Each step upward was deliberate and slight. As he got closer he realized that he wasn’t looking at an altar- it was a sarcophagus. He tossed his torch to the wayside and grappled onto the lid, flinging his whole weight backward. It slid slightly with each tug until dropped to the ground with a thunderous crash that echoed through the sepulcher.
“I’ve finally found it!” Mississippi beamed. “My search is over!”
Inside was a figure bound in a leathery rind of taut flesh and draped with all manner precious gems and golden chains, which Mississippi tossed off of the corpse by the handful in order to reveal his true prize. Mississippi grabbed a stone gauntlet that sat in the bottom of the coffin and held it to the heavens. The finger and thumb of the gauntlet were joined at the tips, creating the ancient Benghazian symbol for either “power like that of the gods” or “nice one, brah.”
“This is it! The Hand of Aok!” Mississippi cackled into the stagnant air. He slid the gauntlet onto his hand. “Now I shall rule this pitiful planet! No longer shall people make fun of my great name!” The Earth trembled as the mauseleum crumbled to dust around him.
“Ha, ‘Franks’ is a synonym for sausage and sausages look like penises’ they will say! ‘Haven’t you seen There’s Something About Mary?’ they will ask!” The sky broke through the failing roof, revealing a blood red sky.
“Of course I have seen There’s Something About Mary!” Franks floated to the surface which was ablaze with the fury of a thousand suns. Flames burned the great trees of the Amazon to nothing more than shriveled black husks. “I flipping love Ben Stiller!”
Franks ascended to the skies above. The miserable ball of dirt beneath him crackled like an ember drifting across the cold night sky and, like the ember, would soon disappear into nothing more than a memory.