The Space Hamzters' Home Companion

History, science, politics. Nothing is sacred



Space Hamzters Visit Iraqi Underground


            Glurg, glurg. Effluent sloshed out of the bathroom of the Al Rashid hotel into the basement of the luxury Baghdad hostelry. Gabloob, a bottle popped out of the commode.

            The duty Space Hamzter shouted, "Message."

            Chief Space Hamzter waded through the muck, picked up the bottle, retrieved the message inside, and read it.

            "Hamzters," he yelled. "Get ready, tonight we're going to a party."

            The Hamzters scurried to the storeroom in the back of the banquet hall where they kept peanut butter stolen from the US Army and other goodies. They quickly donned fashionable suicide bomber vests and mixed Molotov cocktails spiked with Sterno.

            As it got dark and sniper fire echoed through the city, the Hamzters followed Omar, their local guide. Not to be mixed up as targets, the Hamzters wore old spiked Prussian helmets and goose stepped down the back Alleys, singing La Marseillaise. Soon they were out of town.

            Ali Baba met them outside his cave. "Welcome, welcome, hamsters."

            "Hamzters, from planet Z." Chief Hamzter corrected.

            "You have to leave those bottles outside, now that Sadam is missing we're fanatical about alcohol."

            "Molotov cocktails are non-alcoholic," Epicure Hamzter offered Ali Baba a bottle.

            Two hours later, filled with lamb and rice, the Hamzters sat on oriental carpets, smoked hookah pipes and drank sweet tea.

            Ali Baba said, "Feel free to dance while we wait for our guests of honor."

            The Hamzters jumped up, slurped from their bottles stuffed in the suicide vests and began their latest dance, the shock 'n awa. This dance required wild gyrations. The cave filled with the smell of singed fur as Hamzters belched fire.

            A trumpet fanfare brought the dance to a sudden stop.

            A man in red smoking jacket, cigar in his mouth and a brandy glass in hand came into the cave.

            "Salaam aleikum, Hamzters. Welcome to the Iraqi underground."

            "You look much more human out of power," Chief Hamzter said.

            Saddam laughed." I learned something from the British. Now I'm a robbing hood--a folk hero."

            "How nice."

            "I have a complaint."

            Chief Hamzter scratched his buck teeth. "We Hamzters always listen."

            Saddam handed a piece of paper. "Tell that fellow Bremmer he's three months behind on the rent of my palace, and if he doesn't pay promptly, I'll have to start eviction procedures."

            Wearing a tail coat, Legal Hamzter came forward and emitted a wise, "Hmm."

            "And tell him, his combat boots are wearing out my precious carpets."

            Fashionable Hamzter, in a gold lamé suicide vest, said. "That human lacks taste. I tried to sell him a proconsul uniform."

            Sindbad the sailor came in together with Sheherezade.

            Sheherezade said, "We have a beautiful history and this lout in combat boots ruins our image."

            "Definitely not a colorful character," Sindbad added.

            Ali Baba's forty thieves chanted, "We want pizzaz, we want pizzaz."

            Supply Hamzter, took pizzas out of his suicide vest and handed them to the forty thieves.

            Chief Hamzter turned to Saddam. "The Missing Persons Bureau is anxious about your wellbeing, they're offering fifty million shmakos. You should go to their office and collect. It's more money than your palace rent."

            Saddam downed his Cognac. "I would if I was worth that much."




On The Edge Of The Quagmire

In contrast with the Hamzters' space suits in need for a trip to the laundry, President Bush looked neat in his dark blue suit and light blue tie. He wrinkled his nose as he approached the Hamzters eating roses in his garden. "Howdy Hamzters," he said in his studied folksy way.

            "Ah. Your Presidency," Chief Space Hamzter, clicked his heels and gave Bush a Nazi salute. "What can we do for you?"

            "Hamzters, I hate to say this, but I need your help."

            Chief Hamzter scratched his armpit. "Like what, oh Great Chief of State."

            "State is somewhere down the street." Bush tried to remember who was chief of State and if State was part of Homeland Security or what. There was also this mess about his State of the Union speech. And the state of affairs in the state of California. The word State was bothersome.  A light came on in his brain and he remembered Colin Powell. Assuming a statesman-like pose, he said.  "I want you to share my heavy burden in Iraq."

            "What's in it for us?"

            What was wrong with people, or in this case Hamzters? Didn't they understand that they should unquestionably follow the leader of the free world? Well, maybe international politics were similar to domestic. One had to bribe one's way to success. "Oh you get to be Paul Bremmer's official pets, like the Poles."

            "Polish jokes are no longer considered in good taste, Mr. Prez."

            "I need three panzer, I mean Hamzter divisions." Damn zees confused him.

            Military Hamzter finished eating a yellow rose then rose to his feet. "I could spare the 25th. Light Skateboard Division."

            "Not so quick, soldier," Chief Hamzter growled. "We want a share of oil revenues."

            "That's reserved for Chenney's buddies."

            "So you want us to be targets for the sport of it?"

            "Actually I was keeping your reward for later, but if you insist--"

            "We insist."

            This damn Hamzter would, he looked like a Champagne swilling degenerate, furry European. "I will share the great American dream with you."

            "Share your dreams with fat baseball-hatted guys in pickup trucks. We want real stuff."

            These were tough negotiators. But razzmatazz worked before, and it could work again, especially with these stupid old galaxy Hamsters. "Umm," he said, trying to convey insider knowledge.  "You can have Sadam's  hoard of peanut butter."

            Military Hamzter said, "Yum, yum."

            Bush gave him the approving smile he reserved for new Europeans.

            Chief Hamzter nudged Military Hamzter with his elbow. "Oh Great Wise One--where is this peanut butter hoard?"

            "Same place as Sadam's nuclear arsenal. You have to go in and find it."

            Diplomatic Hamzter stepped in. "We need to consult with our government on Planet Z and other world leaders on Terra."

            Leaving a trail of rose petals, the Hamzters scurried into their space ship.


            A day after President Bush made his famous peanut butter in Iraq speech, and Prime Minister Blair supported it by his statement that Iraqis could produce peanut butter within 45 minutes, the Hamzters wearing top hats, morning coats and striped trousers marched into the Elysee Palace.

            President Chirac asked. "What did Le Bouche offer for your assistance?

            "Nothing for something," Chief Hamzter said, as he accepted a glass of Champagne. "He's brilliant, the only man on earth who can create a quagmire out of a sand pit."

            "Les poor Americains," Chirac said to Chancellor Shroeder who had dropped in for a glass of wine. "What can we do to help them?"

            "I don't recommend sending pretzels."









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