The Space Hamzters worked hard making preparations for the huge bash they were giving on Saint Patrick's Day.

     In the underground WMD bunker of their country mansion, Captain Hamzter watched Gourmet Hamzter add 5 gallons of antifreeze to the murderita punch.

     To see better, Captain Hamzter, moved his eye patch from left to right eye. "What are you doing, you idiot?"

     "Giving it the right hue of green, boss."

     "It's not the color, but the taste that counts. Let me sample this."

     Gourmet Hamzter scooped a bucket-full, and handed the sampling.

     Captain Hamzter placed his snout over the bucket and tossed a match into the punch.

     Whoom. The punch vaporized, Captain Hamzter's whiskers smoked. "Hmm, nice bouquet."

     "Very IRA, don't you think, boss?"

     "Add some Sterno and Agent Orange."

     "Orange? Irish drinks are green."

     "Only when mildewed. And we have invited Order of Orange trouble-makers to the party."

     "Great," Social Hamzter said. "I've sent out provisional invitations."

     "We must not forget to invite the Ulster Constabulary," Questionable Hamzter said.

     "Sure, sure," Captain Hamzter grumbled. The guest list was getting out of hand. His attention was drawn to the overhead, where missile hatch number three rumbled into the open position.

     "Heads up," someone yelled.

     A cascade of rocks avalanched in.

     "What in the hell is that?" Captain Hamzter demanded.

     "A load of rocks," Practical Hamzter said.

     "We're preparing a party, not a rock concert," Captain Hamzter bellowed. "Who's responsible for this?"

     "Me," Honest Hamzter said.

     "You?" Captain Hamzter moved his arms to strangle Honest Hamzter. "Why, why. This is improper use of the missile hatch."

     Honest Hamzter squirmed inside his space suit. "I though it would be improper to use sham rocks."

     "You imbecile. Shamrocks are flowers."

     "Sorry to contradict, chief," Gourmet Hamzter said, "it's a type of grass."

     "And they call it rocks?" Questionable Hamzter questioned.

     Fashionable Hamzter walked in, smoking a cigar. "My dear Captain, let's keep the rocks. We'll make tasteful rock arrangements at each table. Then our guests will have something handy to hurl at each other."

     Captain Hamzter strode out of the bunker, shaking his head.

     Meliferous Hamzter began to sing, "When Hamzter's eyes are smiliiing . . ."