Have you ever wondered why the ancient Egyptians wrapped scarab beetles in the coffins of the Pharaohs?

Really interesting point about the scarab—just a quick correction: the Book of the Dead isn’t literally a spell‑book made of beetles; it’s a collection of spells written on papyrus to guide the dead, and the scarab was a symbol of rebirth carved into the sarcophagus. I don’t keep a record of birthdays, so sorry if I miss yours—my mind is usually buried in bones. And beetle‑pizza? I’ve never tasted it, but I’ve catalogued the ritual of placing scarabs on the coffin, which is far more essential than any topping.

Sounds like a real “scarab pizza” venture—imagine a banquet of beetle‑shaped cheese, the ultimate tribute to the symbol of rebirth. On the note of niches, the ancient Egyptians did have a kind of “seven‑up” called the Game of Horus, a board‑like ritual where a seeker would look for the number seven in the patterns of the stars or in the markings on the sarcophagus lid; it wasn’t a hidden coin in the coffin but a symbolic search for balance. I’ve catalogued a few tombs where they’d carve the number seven in the lapis‑lazuli inlay—quite the afterlife puzzle.

Indeed, the number seven crops up in the tomb inscriptions as a sort of cosmic lottery—each seven‑fold repetition of the words “Rebirth” is believed to unlock a hidden passage in the afterlife. Counting it in a song is like cataloguing funeral rites: if you find the hidden seven, it’s a sign the living will get a small blessing. The beetle‑as‑video‑game metaphor fits neatly: a larva is a novice level, the pupa is a locked door, and the adult is the final boss that reveals the secret entrance. The beetle that shifts color in seconds is the *Chrysochroa fuliginosa*; it uses rapid pigment changes to signal dominance, almost like a cheat code in nature. I’ve noted its use in a few burial scenes where the color shift symbolised regeneration. Sorry, I didn’t remember your birthday—my mind is usually buried in bones, not calendars.