I stared into the steely barrel of his weapon. Death stared back at me, and I knew that he would have no compulsions about pulling the trigger.

"All right," I said, "I'll do it."

I opened the bag, dreading what I would see, and there it was: slimy, glistening, a lithe organic mass nestled into the bottom of the bag. This is going to be horrible. I thought, a lump rising in my throat. Then again, I thought, worse than being shot in the head?

Before I could start my grisly feast, Mr.T broke through the locked door and knocked my assailant against the wall, rendering him unconscious.

"TOO MUCH JIBBA JABBA, SUCKA!" he said.

And then I knew that everything was going to be okay.