The Nommon pharoah Raath-Mon-Tet, harbinger of chaos, lived his life in a desert just off the M25 many moons ago, ruling over scarabs, serpents, slaves and sphinxes of sorts.
Years later, his mummified remains were recovered, and following a gigantic piss-up were left completely undocumented and buried deep in the mighty catacombs of Englefield Green.
The powerful hexes and curses on the sarcophagus worked their evil most foul on one of the young residents, who was possessed by the spirit from an early age.
This forced the boy to warp plinky-plonky melodies into high speed, four-to-the-floor dance music that's bad to it's 1s and 0s.
It also forced him to put on a shoddy pharoah mask and dance around like a nutter.