Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Wal-Mart treats competitors the way Moe worked through conflict with Curly or Shemp. If Al Qeda had controlled a market the retailer wanted, Osama Bin Laden would be straitjacketed in some Middle Eastern asylum right now, whimpering, “It’s yours. Just don’t lower your prices again.”

Which is why I have to play Paul Revere and warn you of a story we posted on our website today: Wal-Mart is trying a new concept called Marketside, which is positioning itself as the place to buy dinners a consumer might’ve otherwise purchased from a restaurant. Customers can pick up the ingredients to whip together a meal themselves. Or they can opt for one that’s ready to plate and serve the family. Indeed, “easy meal solutions” is the cornerstone of the venture. Except here you can get them for what the nation’s notorious discounter coyly terms “affordable prices.”

“With us,” says the one-time home-supplies source that now dominates virtually every merchandise category it’s entered, from music to toys, “you¹ll never have to compromise quality to get a lower cost.”

Wal-Mart says it has no plans to open more than the first four green-lighted Marketsides, all of which are slated for the Phoenix area. But it slipped up and acknowledged in ads for Marketside staffers that it envisions 1,000 units cranking $10 billion in annual sales. Darden Restaurants, the king of casual dining, garners about $6.7 billion.

News of Wal-Mart’s interest in stealing your customers follows a similar development during the Olympics: The retail chain exploited coverage of the games by advertising its in-house take-and-bake pizza as a more-economical alternative to restaurant-made pies. The primetime commercials sum it up bluntly: If your family buys only one pizza a week, it’d be saving $312 a year by grabbing a pie from the nearest Wal-Mart.

We in the United States are worried that the Olympics were reason to be more fearful of the Chinese. Restaurateurs should be more concerned about a rival named Wal-Mart. It’s a nightmare that appears to be coming true.

Try this survival technique, Grasshopper

I was having an out-of-body experience the other night when I bumped into Confucious, who was surfing the ether to dream up sayings that might impress women. “Hey, Cunfucious,” I shouted, “people have been gushing for centuries about how wise you are. Any sage advice for casual-dining execs trying to get through this rough time without a pink slip?”

“Buzz off, Scooter. I’m a philosopher, not a miracle worker.” He tugged on the Fu a few times. “Aw, alright. Tell ‘em, ‘That brand which commoditizes must make the Target dog its own.’” He smugly smiled.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You meatball, don’t you get it?” he retorted. “They who squeeze all the character from their concepts are marketing wrung-out washcloths.”

Still a blank stare.

“Look, dummy, these chains all scrambled to sand off the rough edges that made their concepts different because a simple oval makes a better cookie cutter than a silhouette of Carmen Electra. It’s easier to duplicate blandness 1,200 times.”

Still no light-bulb bubble above my head.

“Yikes, don’t you see? They’ve turned the industry’s strongest segment into a commodities game. You could step into any of the grill concepts and have no idea which one you were in. And they who commoditize buy cut-glass thongs from Victoria Secret.”

Embarrassment, but no flicker of comprehension on my part.

He heaved a heavy sigh. “Look, if you’re a commodity, the only way you can compete is on price. That’s great if you’re the size of Wal-Mart and the whole market is expanding, so you can make it up on volume. But restaurant spending is softening overall, and margins are already thinner than Kevin Federline’s talent.

“The only other option,” he continued, “is differentiating yourself as a brand with pronounced character and flavor—a distinct experience, where you stake out a specific piece of the market instead of trying to be all things to all consumers. That’s exactly what Target did.

“It’s going to turn off the customers whose idea of spice is mayonnaise on plain macaroni. But it’s going to be embraced as a standout by the folks who wouldn’t mind something different from the status quo. And there are a lot of those people.

“Otherwise,” he said, “You’re the Kmart of a few years ago.” He saw my puzzled look. “It went bankrupt, Einstein. While Target was kicking butt.”

And with that, he gave the Fu Manchu another tug and was gone. All I could think to do was yell after him, “Don’t take any wooden nickels.”