The Wax Conspiracy

The Tutankhamun Deception

Belvedere Jehosophat - Thursday, June 5, 2003 - Print The Wax

The Tutankhamun Deception by Gerald O’Farrell was given to me by my father a Christmas or two ago.

Essentially, the book can be split up into two parts; one part dealing with the story of the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun, and the other, the conclusions drawn from said discovery.

I’m not going to delve into the first part too deeply as this is a summary of what the book attempts to prove and not a review, and, in truth, the topic has been the subject of numerous, too many even, documentaries and other such studies. In short, it poses the theory that Carter and Carnarvon didn’t discover the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922 but rather that they discovered it in 1914.

During these eight years Carter and Carnarvon are thought to have quietly plundered the tomb and then waited, anxiously, for an ideal time to stage a fake unveiling, hoping all the while that no one stumbled into the tomb and claimed it as their own discovery.

I’ve heard both versions of the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun from several different sources and, frankly, either version is as plausible as the other.

O’Farrell describes first what the official story of the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun and then presents his own theory as to what really happened. It is during this time O’Farrell begins to hint at a series of murders that occurred after the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun and, indeed, intimating that the famous Mummy’s Curse was in fact a cover for those murders.
The reason behind these murders centres around some missing papyri. What truth was contained in these fragile pages that would trigger a series of murders? What secret could be so sacrosanct as to necessitate so elaborate a conspiracy, especially one leading to the murder of Sigmund Freud?

It is the attempt to answer these questions that the focus of the book now turns to; an attempt to discover where the papyrus currently is and what they said. By carefully aligning the history of Egypt and that what is told in the bible, O’Farrell comes to several shocking, prolapse inducing conclusions.

To put it simply, O’Farrell believes that the papyri would have confirmed that:
• Akhenaten, Tutankhamun’s father, was in fact Moses.
• That Tutankhamun’s great-grandfather was Yuya, the biblical Joseph.
• That the Jews were not led out of Egypt by Moses but were forced out by a junta of generals (Ay, Horemheb, Ramses I and Seti).
• The reason that Moses (Akhenaten) was forced out was that he created the first monotheistic religion, the worship of one God, Aten.
• After Moses was made to leave Egypt, a new pharaoh was put in power; this new Pharaoh was Tutankhamun who was no other than Jesus Christ, the Messiah.
• That Tutankhamun had a brother called Smenkhkara.
• That, in short, the bible is completely based on Egyptian stories.

Well, holy shit.

If this were all true virtually every major religion would have collapsed, as they would have been exposed as having been based on a fallacy.
It was this that led to the murder of so many people, and it was this that led to the murder of Sigmund Freud – an attempt to suppress a paper that he was writing on the very topic.

O’Farrell then references the work of a friend of his, Charles Pope. Both believe that the Greek myth of Oedipus Rex was in fact based on an Egyptian tale, which describes the sexual relationship between Moses (Akhenaten) and his mother, Queen Tiye, and that it was this incestuous coupling that produced the births of Tutankhamun and Smenkhkara.

This of course has its own ramifications:
• Moses and Oedipus were the same person
• the father of Judaism practiced incest
• that the virgin birth of the Christ was in fact the result of an incestuous relationship.

All of this has been inexorably leading to the oddest, certainly the most salacious, sentence that I have ever seen committed to print, namely “The Messiah would then not so much be the Son of God as the son of Moses and his Grandmother!”

“The Messiah would then not so much be the Son of God as the son of Moses and his Grandmother!”

After I read that last sentence I found it hard to continue reading the book without an air of skepticism. There were times when I was starting to think that perhaps the book was written in jest.
I remember being almost convinced of this when O’Farrell talked about the murder of Sigmund Freud. It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe that Freud could be the target of a nefarious cabal of assassins determined to keep the true details of their religion secret but rather the details, the minutiae, of his death.

O’Farrell states that the first attempt on the life of Sigmund Freud probably took place in 1923, when Freud went to a surgeon to have what is described as, a “leukoplastic growth” on his jaw and palate removed.

Apparently, during the operation, something went terribly wrong and Freud began to bleed profusely. He was placed in a small side room to recover, his only company being a friendly, retarded dwarf - a friendly, retarded dwarf! When Freud, unable to recover and too weak to summon assistance, looked like he was going to die, the dwarf, sensing that something was wrong, ran to get the nurse, thereby saving his life.

Unfortunately, the second attempt to excise the growth didn’t – or did, if you believe the conspiracy theory that O’Farrell plants – go so well and, in order to ease the considerable pain that Freud was in, a lethal dose of morphine was prescribed and given.

Strangely, O’Farrell seems to put a lot of focus on the murder of Sigmund Freud, as if his murder was as important as his revelation that the major religions are a sham.

He wonders why an old man (Freud was 67 at the time) was subjected to two unnecessary, cosmetic operations. I’m not too sure how he equates a death resulting from an unnecessary operation with murder especially as the surgeon who performed the second operation was a friend of Freud’s.

The logic that O’Farrell uses seems to be flawless, but, unfortunately, methinks also rather specious.
It is the sort of logic that is based on the similarity names and other sketchy details, the sort of logic that posits that since the Trinity is a ‘three’ and there are three sides in a triangle then, therefore, God must be a triangle.

Whether everything that O’Farrell talks about is true is a question for less apathetic heads than mine.

Belvedere

Belvedere Jehosophat

I hope that what I have written will be of some assistance.

tastes del.icio.us  

 

On the matter of the article...

«

«

«

*Optional. Email addresses are neither published, nor collected.

 

Previous articles by Belvedere Jehosophat

Year Of The Horse, Sign O' The Times
This is an interview with Bluto, singer for the rock band Peabody. Don't read this if you're actually expecting an interview. There is no interview as there was no interview. Interview.
Sheep Unite!
Much love and much respect to Jimmy Weasel who has safely returned to the fold.
The Same Thing Over And Over And Over Again
Vitruvius Pollio, Marcus: fl. 1st century B. C., Roman architect, engineer, and author.
class=hst

The Wax Conspiracy to your pocket

Finagle with our bagel and keep a fresh and up-to-date eyeball on our latest reviews, articles and filthy somesuch. Mmm doughy.

Homebrew Diary - Wheatbeer of misery
If what can turn a foul mood around becomes the harbinger of the foul mood, what happens next? Turn it into a learning experience. And when that learning curve makes a late break over the plate, you'd better start to swing away.
Homebrew Diary - Blackrock IPA + Hops
It doesn't take a big man to admit that he drinks. It takes a big man to get wasted and perform impromptu sermons naked from a balcony; raving upon the ravages of the insanity of stata bylaws and noisy offspring in adjoining arpartments...
Homebrew Diary - Barrel of Blackrock Pale Ale
The journey toward enlightenment need not begin in any particular direction so much as that it needs to begin at all - and if you create your own beery reality with which to illuminate yourself, enlightenment can indeed glass you in the jaw in the comfort of your own bathtub.
Kitchen Antics - Sweet/Sticky/Spicy Pork Stirfry
80% alliterative. Deliberate? Subconsciously. All normal thought stolen by the weight and treachery of the outdoor world. A world where a boy has to battle all manner of foes armed to the teeth just to find the time to get back into the kitchen where he belongs.
Return to Castlereagh
Enough to return. Enough to go back. Still, just not enough to sign up and be among the legions to call Scientology the religion of choice. And it has nothing to do with being an atheist or having something of an aversion to peanut butter in most forms.
Kitchen Antics - The Mushroom and Salami Incident
If you cook naked, and you get burned, then you're a chump, and I'll throw my empties at you from my balcony. Goddamnit, boy! Put some pants on and cook like a grown-up!
Kitchen Antics - The Chilli & Garlic Chicken Stir Fry
Als de tijd uw vijand is en u geen tijd om hebt te verspillen door dingen in de verkeerde orde te doen, bereid me omhoog door één van de bieren voor te drinken zoals afgeslagen uw groenten, zwengel de muziek aan, en organiseer uw sausen.
Kitchen Antics - The Octopus Pasta
The octopus is a cephalopod of the order Octopoda that inhabits many diverse regions of the ocean, especially coral reefs. The term may also refer to only those creatures in the genus Octopus. In the larger sense, there are 289 different octopus species, which is over one-third the total number of cephalopod species. One thing is for certain - these buggers are tasty.
Kitchen Antics - Joy of the Baked Apple
Who likes apples? Most people. Combine those people with more people and you've got a large-ish crowd. Then what happens? It's a mystery; like life. Like apples - nature's pudding just waiting for an oven, and a daring savage with a knife.
Kitchen Antics: The Peanut Curry
Once again we take a trip to Spicytown through the shiftiest back streets a blind taxi driver could steer through. Staggering out to admire the tastes and the sights and the smells while trudging through the debris strewn about an unkempt street we find our hero nipple deep in thoughts about nothing in particular...
House Always Wins
There are those who actually watch late night television for the commercials. There are ones featuring ads about ads. Others are for the phone sex and chat lines with women who don't earn enough for warm clothes. Ads with short-sighted women with hook thumbs who do nothing but SMS all day long on their mobiles. And then there are the ads for those looking to participate as audience members for a show they know nothing about.
Washoe
if a messenger you must be known, then with messages you must return
Kitchen Antics: Lentils of Fiery Doom
Some like it hot, while others, well, don't. This dish, unlike revenge, is best served warm, or even hot, and is ideal for anyone who likes to eat. Guard your kitchen against all who would invade it with a sharp knife and careful eyes...

class=etc

 

id=vonnegut

Creative Commons License

© Copyright 2002-2008 The Wax Conspiracy

 

feed
grab our full and fatty feed

The Natural Wax T-Shirt for sale

Nipples need protection from the elements?
Armpit hair needs a lair? Bellybutton catching too many flies?
Then grab this comfy chest covering and other kinds of T-shirts at The Wax Sweatshop.

id=ufo