Introduction

    The sensors on planet Z sensed a disturbance and the Space Hamzters were sent to investigate what was going on in the backwaters of the galaxy, namely planet Terra. They land on 27 March 2003.

    "Fasten harnesses," Chief Space Hamzter said.

    "Don't crowd, this is a space ship," Grouch Hamzter complained.

    Pilot Space Hamzter, activated the retrograbber system. The ship did an automatic flip and slowed as it hurtled through the sandstorm.

    Bang, crash, swoosh. The spaceship came to a halt.

    "You idiot," Chief Hamzter said. "This isn't Washington."

    "No difference," Pilot Hamzter said. "Lots of Americans here."

    Explorer Hamzter opened the hatch and jumped out into the blowing sand and approached a man in a beret, smoking a cigar. "Hello man, I'm a Space Hamzter from planet Z."

    "Salaam aleikum, I'm Sadam."

    Explorer Hamzter lifted a leg to let an RPG whoosh past. "We're looking for Americans."

    "You came to the right place, little friend. They are all emigrating this way." Sadam pointed at a long column of tanks. "They brought their gas guzzlers over here, closer to where the oil is."

    "Wow, that's very clever. What sort of mileage those SUV's get?"

    "Five gallons per mile on a good day."

    Clunk. A bullet bounced off Explorer Hamzter's space helmet. "It must be rush hour."

    Sadam ducked as a Tomahawk missile screeched past. "They all want to visit my nice palaces."

    Explorer Hamzter turned toward the space ship. "Hey Hamzters, come out, this is more fun than chasing Rummy around the Bush in the Rose Garden and causing a Chenney reaction."

Space Hamzters Visit an Airport

    "Yee haw," Glutton Hamzter shouted.

    "Jihad?" Linguist Hamzter asked.

    Glutton Hamzter pointed at the white building next to their landing site. "The duty free shop. Best duty-free in the Middle East, a shopper's Mecca."

    "Ouch," a smart bomb exclaimed before blowing up on the tarmac.

    "Welcome, welcome," the man in the beret said as the Space Hamzters rushed past him into the luxury emporium.

    A lady in a long skirt said, "Help yourselves, take whatever you like. We're having a close out sale before the management changes and we re-stock with American junk food and goods."

    Explorer Hamzter opened a bottle of French perfume and poured it over himself.

    Historian Hamzter had his face inside a can of beluga caviar.

    Meanwhile an eavesdropping satellite beeped a signal to Central Command outside Doha.

    "General Frankenstein, they've got a Jihad going at Saddam International," a colonel said.

    The general thought for a moment, maxing out. "Make them smart, drop more bombs."

    Finished with their visit to the duty-free shop, the Space Hamzters gathered at the foot of their space ship. "What do we do next?" Asked Questionable Hamzter.

    Commercial Hamzter answered by showing a sign he had made up. "This is the biggest influx of Americans since tourism started in the area. We'll have palace tours. A visit to Fardos Square, statue pulling at no extra charge. Target practice on journalists included."

Space Hamzters Observe A Sales Pitch

    Scout Hamzter sniffed the air. "I smell trouble."

    "Trouble?" Captain Hamzter asked.

    "Yeh, for the Americans. I smell Syrians."

    "Are you serious?"

    "No, I'm a Space Hamzter."

    "What's the trouble for the Americans?"

    "Let's go and talk to that man, he's watching the Syrians."

    The man in the trenchcoat and fedora stood looking through binoculars, smoking a cigarette.

    "Hello man, we're Space Hamzter's. What are you doing?"

    "Watching Syrians."

    Captain Hamzter brought his visionaries up to his eyes, focused on three Syrians scurrying among the craters. "Those Syrians are serious."

    "Da," Fedora said.

    "And what do you do?" Scout Hamzter asked.

    "I'm a salesman and those Syrians are a sales-demo team."

    "What are you selling?"

    "Nothing right now, making a sales demo." He gestured toward a truck loaded with various Arab generals, Iranians, Chinese, North Koreans and people from other countries. All watching the scurrying Syrians.

    The Syrians crawled into holes as American tanks appeared on the horizon.

    "Observe," Fedora said.

    Bang, a missile left a tube resting on a Syrian shoulder. Ten seconds later a tank blew up.

    Applause came from the truck.

    Shortly two more tanks were smoky ruins.

    "Now I sell," Fedora said.

    Scout Hamzter asked, "What are you selling?"

    "Kornet missiles. God bless America." Fedora had to duck as the occupants of the truck threw money at him.