The curse is not complicated and I do not know why everybody makes such a production of it.
It does not say you will die horribly. It says — and I am paraphrasing only slightly off the doorway lintel — put it back.
Put back the jars. Put back the little painted boat. Put back the lid, which weighs four hundred pounds and which two gentlemen levered off at eleven o'clock at night while assuring one another it was fine.
Three thousand years he has been lying there getting his rest, and the rest was going well, and now there is lamplight in his face and a man in a pith helmet is saying something about a museum back home.
He is not cursed. He is TIRED. There is a difference and you are about to learn it.
