In the ""great and glorious country of Maghrebinia"", the churches have garlic steeples, and the people cherish two invaluable attributes: their ""baksheesh"" and their composure. ""Baksheesh"" is the honorable bribe, blood- money; and composure is retained both by its exercise and by an endless supply of tales. In fact, the native Maghrebinian author cautions, his country consists only of stories, and any attempt to locate this Balkan land of Oriental wonders can lead merely to its ""true borders in the hearts and souls of its people"". The lies are so zany, the whimsy so caprioled, and the wisdom so cleverly disguised that even the most jaded realist will be avid for more history, more tales, and more social spoofs from Maghrebinia. Resplendent in their own language, official labyrinths, popular intrigues, and recently adopted ""progressive form of government-democracy"", the Maghrebinians (like old Dragomir Kleptomanovitch Kleptomanov, keeper of the money-bags) revel on in innocent mimicry of Western customs and over-civilization. Aptly translated from the German, this is well documented idiocy on a garlic bed of social criticism. Tommer (Maghrebinian for 'therefore'), enjoyable and lightly rewarding.