I was walking down an aisle in the toy section of a department store, trying to
hurry and escape the brain-numbing muzak being piped through the store.  I had just
passed a snotty little boy, not giving him much notice.  But as I reached the end of the
aisle, I heard him call after me, "Hey, haven't you been discontinued?"  His voice was like
the whine of an air-raid siren.
	"Huh," I asked as I stopped and pivoted around on my heel to face him.  I had no
idea what he was talking about, but nonetheless I just wanted to give him a curt answer
and get home.
	"Aren't you Mr. Evil from Action Man," he asked me as he wiped his nose along
the already glossy forearm of his coat.  I took a deep breath, sighed, and tired not to roll
my eyes.  It seemed like at least once a week this happened to me.  Some idiot mistook me
for a toy, or the world's smallest man, or some other ridiculousness.  I took a few steps
toward the boy, staring up at him from beneath my scowling brow.
	"Look, I'm not Mr. Evil.  Or GI Joe.  Or a midget.  Or anything else.  I'm simply
what is politely referred to as a vertically challenged person.  Got it?"
	The boy looked at me suspiciously for a moment.  "You sound like Mr. Evil, too." 
Admittedly I'd been heaving a bad day up to this point, what with it being impossible to
find decent clothes at less than baby size.  I stormed up to the child, standing right at his
side and glaring up at him, my first tightly clenched at my sides.
	"I am not Mr. Evil, nor do I pretend to be.  If you must know, my name is Tyler,
not Mr. Evil.  Furthermore, would it make any sense at all for a super-villain such as Mr.
Evil, which I feel compelled at this point to reiterate I am not Mr. Evil, to be shopping in
Wal-Mart?"
	He stared down at me blankly, as if I'd just explained quantum physics to him. 
Then his eyes came alive again and he said, with great conviction and certainty, "You're
Mr. Evil."
	That did it.  I had reached my breaking point.  I could feel my face and chest
warming with anger.  I took a deep breath, and then hollered up at his moronic face with
all the force my Lilliputian lungs would allow, "I am not Mr. Evil, son!  Call me Mr. Evil
once more and se what it gets you!"  He barely even paused.
	"Why are you shouting at me, Mr. Evil?"  I let out a wild, beastly scream, then
began to pummel his shins with vicious kicks, and punched furiously at his knee caps.  
	"I ... am ... not ... Mr. ... Evil!"  I bellowed once more, between breaths and strikes
to the boy's legs.
	"Ow.  Stop that, Mr. Evil, it almost hurts.  So what are you doing here at Wal-
Mart?  Looking for the final part to complete your death ray-gun?"  Exhausted and
exasperated, I hunched over and took deep breaths, my hands on my knees.  As I was just
beginning to regain my breath and composure, I heard the little monster whine, "You
know, Mr. Evil, I was real sad when they canceled Action Man and stopped making his
toys.  My Saturday mornings aren't as fun anymore without Action Man on TV. ... So
what are you doing now that you're not fighting Action Man every Saturday morning?"  I
was tire of trying to prove to this boy I wasn't Mr. Evil.  I had a suspicion that even if I
showed him ten forms of ID and produced a dozen character witnesses that would all
swear on a stack of Bibles that I was not Mr. Evil, he'd still think I was.  So I decided to
just play along, hoping it would get me out of there all the sooner.
	"Well, you see, kid," I said, trying to sound extra evil, "now that Action Man isn't
around to stop me, I'm going to be able to take over the world.  And I'm starting here,
today, for practice.  I'm going to take over this Wal-Mart.  Today, Wal-Mart ... tomorrow,
the world!"  I have to admit I think I sounded awfully convincing.  For no apparent reason
the boy whipped off his coat and threw it down the aisle behind him, then cast a
judgmental finger down at me.
	"I knew it was you, Mr. Evil," he boomed at me in a voice entirely not his own. 
"It is I, Action Man, in disguise!"  It was at this point that I began to consider it a real
possibility that this boy had gotten his hands on some whacko tobacco.  "But I won't let
you take over the world just because our series was canceled!"  This seemed too weird.  I
started backing up, slowly.  I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't
going to be run over by anyone when I decided to sprint for the exit.  Which was going to
happen any second now.
	As I turned my attention back to the boy, he had put his hands to his chest like a
man having a heart attack.  Then I watched, mouth agape and petrified, as he gently
tugged his right pinkie finger.  There was a hissing sound, and then the boy split in two,
right down the middle.  While the hollow halves of the boy slowly fell to the floor, from
inside their depths I saw something bright fall.  I heard the dull thump as the cocoon of the
boy hit the floor, and then I saw someone my size walking toward me from within the
shadows of the halves.
	"Prepare to meet your destiny, Mr. Evil," a tiny but powerful voice said to me,
coming from the figure that was just now becoming visible in the store's fluorescent lights. 
It was a muscular man in a red jump suit, which read "Action Man" across the chest.  He
looked like a ten-inch tall Kirk Douglas, only with better hair.  I finally realized whose
voice his reminded me of:  James Earl Jones.  I saw his hand moving, and looked to see
where it was going.
	It was moving to his right leg, where he had a holster strapped.  Form the outline
of the gun I could make out through the holster, as well as the grip, I was sure this was
not like any pistol I'd ever seen before.  But the fact remained that he was going for it, and
I was unarmed.  I turned around and started running as fast as I could, my heart pounding
in my chest and ears.  He said something noble, I'm sure, but I hardly even heard it.  I was
too busy making my legs pump as fast as they could.  The next thing I knew my back felt
very, very warm, and was getting hotter.  As the heat grew unbearable I began to scream. 
At that point, I woke up in a cold sweat.