The Space Hamzters landed in Mosul and scrambled out of the space ship. Not to be mixed up as troublemakers,

    The Space Hamzters landed in Mosul and scrambled out of the space ship. Not to be mixed up as troublemakers, they wore white suits with black string ties, and wide brimmed straw hats. In a few minutes they reached the building and climbed to the roof.

    Once they were all comfortably settled on lawn chairs, Epicure Hamzter handed out cocktails. "Americans don't shoot at people drinking mint juleps," he said.

    A collective ah of satisfaction replied.

    Playwright Hamzter walked in front of the expectant space travelers. "Sorry chaps, the Americans rejected my script."

    "Ooh," Hamzters chorused.

    "How come?" Questionable Hamzter asked.

    "My script was a night time show with twelve SEALS. Quiet SEALS so as not to upset the neighbors. Scratch that out, the general told me. We'll have a cast of hundreds. And we'll do it in prime time when all those Iraqi idlers are watching."

    "You must learn to accept rejection," Chief Hamzter said. "Sit down and watch the show."

    The show started five minutes later as six American soldiers entered from stage right.

    They came up to the villa gate. "Knock, knock." One of them yelled.

    "Who's there?"

    "Jose."

    "Jose who?"

    "Qusai, open the door."

    Kalashnikovs rattled from inside the villa, actors exited stage left.

    Playwright Hamzter moaned. "My opening scene was men in black going quietly over the fence with knives in their teeth."

    "Shut up and watch the show," Chief Hamzter growled.

    The crackle of assault rifles and machine guns erupted form both sides of the stage. Dust rose as bullets hit the center stage villa.

    Hamzters cheered.

    Volleys of shots came from the villa.

    Hamzters cheered.

    After two hours the Hamzters tired of cheering, sipped more mint juleps.

    The third act opened with a helicopter ballet.

    Hamzters waved at the choppers.

    "This is a good show," Childish Hamzter said.

    "You don't understand good stagecraft, Playwright Hamzter grumbled. "It's not the size of the show but the skill of the actors that counts."

    "Keep quiet, you snob, we're watching the show," someone said.

    Rockets hit the villa sending debris flying.

    "Wowee," the Hamzters cheered.

    Answering fire came from the villa.

    "Yeah, for the villains in the villa," Critic Hamzter yelled enthusiastically. "This is a great play, observe the character change arc."

    "Do your critique after the show," Chief Hamzter grumbled.

    More rockets peppered the sturdy house.

    An American general joined the Hamzters. "Enjoying the show, fellahs?"

    "Oh yes, good stuff."

    "I'm glad you do. Rummey and Wolfie will like it, too."

    "They would," muttered Playwright Hamzter. "They have little understanding of theater."

    Critic Hamzter joined into the conversation. "Don't listen to these furry nitwits, General."

    The general smiled benignly. "Now watch the dramatic final scene as they haul the bodies out of the villa."

    Critic Hamzter hummed Wagner's The Entrance of The Gods Into Valhalla. "Great play, general. I particularly liked the way you changed the character of the protagonists from playboys into heroic, immortal martyrs. An inspiring story worthy of the rich historical tradition of this land.

    The general smiled. "Who said we only export trash culture?"