But let’s face it, folks. If any person on the planet got superpowers right now, I highly doubt that they’d use them for anything other than humorous shenanigans or catastrophic totalitarianism. And for me? Realistically, I’d pretty much use them to be more of a lazy drain on society’s resources than I already am. For example:
SUPER STRENGTH
Super Strength is the go-to superpower for your typical tights-clad crimefighter. Nothing invokes a better image of the long arm of the law than the hard fist of the law.
How I’d Use It:
Considering I can’t fly, I’d probably deduce that I could leap great distances with my powerful leg muscles. With great gusto, I’d take a soaring bound into the great blue yonder of the sky, with the roaring wind tearing across my face and the ground shrinking behind me. All too soon, I’d brace for landing, and slam into downtown Cleveland at approximately fifty-five miles per hour. Three people and a cat would be killed in the resulting collision.
Mr. Scrambles…had a hard life.
To make up for my reckless act of violence, I’d devote my life to fighting the plague of the criminal element across the globe. Upon a chance encounter with a mugger, I’d deliver a haymaker to the jaw. Considering I have the strength of thirteen-and-a-half men, it’d send his head flying right off his shoulders. And let me tell you, that’s a real awkward moment right there.
After disposing of the body, I’d hop my way to another city. Blindly leaping somewhere in a general northward direction, I’d wind up smack in the middle of a quiet small town in southern Canada. I immediately go on patrol for wily criminals, but because I’m in Canada, everyone is too busy eating syrup and beavers to do anything illegal. Out of a job and technically an illegal immigrant, I’d proceed to wander the Yukon countryside, lost and disillusioned, before freezing to death in the Boreal Forest.
How I’d Actually Use It:
Assuming they’d develop when I least expect them, I would become very angry when my mug of hot cocoa shatters in my grasp for no apparent reason. Disgusted at how what is literally the worst thing to ever happen to anyone has just happened to me, I’d go on a murderous, super-fueled rampage throughout the city. By that, I mean I’d probably just sit there confused and mildly annoyed before going back to watching stand-up comedy on Youtube.
After a while I’d realize that I have super strength – probably after killing my laptop by punching finger-sized holes where the keyboard used to be – and do something practical with it. I’d go outside and start lifting stuff just for the sake of lifting it. I’d chuck cars, uproot trees, and toss around weights like they were nothing. Yep, it seemed like just about nothing was too heavy to lift, except maybe your mother. (Zing.) However, after a dare from one of my douchebag friends, I’d tragically throw out my back in a hernia after trying to lift the local McDonald’s and everyone inside of it. Upon recovery, I’d start showboating my powers like a self-aware cash cow, performing amazing feats of strength every day until the government forces me to become a weapon. But until then, I'd entertain the public with impressive stunts, like battling an evil gorilla, juggling a family of gorillas, and getting banned from the zoo.
SUPER SPEED
Zip, zoom, zang, zoop, and other sounds Bill Cosby likes to make. Nothing’s quite like being able to do whatever you want as fast as you want to do it. Why, I can’t think of a single time when this wouldn’t be the greatest thing ever.
Just getting this joke out of the way now.
How I’d Use It:
For starters I’d try to see just how fast I could run. I’d zoom around the world a couple hundred times before breakfast and then race to Alpha Centauri and back during my lunch break. Ignoring the physical impossibility of being able to run and breathe in the zero-gravity vacuum of space, my triumphant return to Earth would probably be akin to that of a crashing asteroid. The impact would be explosive, but I’d take very good care not to kill anything this time. I mean, we don’t want another Mr. Scrambles on our hands, now do we?
From there, it’s off to fight crime. Now, you’d think that finding criminals would be almost effortless when your speed renders you practically omnipresent, but it’s comparable to searching the back of your hand for ne’er-do-well skin cells. But after a quadrillion or so zip-a-dee-doo-dahs across the streets of America, I’d finally stumble upon a drug dealer doing his dirty work. And I mean literally stumble upon it – I’d just cream the guy. And considering I just ran smack into him going at the terminal velocity of the very force of speed itself, I think that saying I “creamed” him isn’t too far from the truth.
Kind of like this.
Absolutely smothered in the watery entrails of the former scum of society, I’d quickly turn my attention to the late drug dealer’s business partner, who I am one hundred percent certain will have just soiled his britches. Terrified, high on some sort of something, and desperately in need of a change of pants, he’ll attempt to flee the scene. I’d humor him for a bit by doing something inane, like standing there yawning or picking up my dry cleaning. Before he can get too far, though, I’d zip directly in front of him, staring him down menacingly in all my gore-spattered glory. Then I’d try out another neat aspect of super-speed: being able to punch things really, really fast. Without hesitation, I would land one punch after another punch after another punch after another punch, landing a thousand blows in the blink of an eye. Shortly later, though, I’d realize that I’m not punching anything anymore, and instead just flailing my arms in front of me like a dumbass. Yeah, turns out that when you hit something a lot of times, it really eats away at it. Basically, in the span of ten seconds, I just eroded a guy into a puddle of red mist. With my fists. That is awesome.
Well, on the bright side, at least it’ll be easy to run from the cops.
How I’d Actually Use It:
The first thing I’d do is be extraordinarily happy knowing that I’ll never have to own a car. I’ll go around town mocking the slaves to gas prices at the speed of sound. “You poor soul,” I’ll sneer, briskly walking alongside some sap in a Hummer going down I-80, “how I weep for you and your clunky, clumsy vehicle.” I’ll just plain stalk him, constantly running right by his side, and laughing maniacally as he grows more and more aggravated with each profane drawing I etch into his window.
Three hairy butts, two impolite sketches of his mother, and a six-car pileup later, I skedaddle back home for some well-earned RR&R (rest, relaxation, and rockin’ out) when it dawns upon me that I can do everything faster than the human mind can even attempt to comprehend. Within the span of three-and-a-half minutes, my schoolwork for the semester is neatly completed, the house is clean, my closet is organized, and I have absolutely nothing to worry about. In the span of a day, I’ve taught myself quantum physics, learned to play every single Eagles song on the didgeridoo, and baked an apple pie from scratch. In the span of a week, I’ve solved the enigmas of world hunger and the energy crisis. In the span of two weeks I’ve discovered the Higgs-Boson, ripped apart the very fabric of the space-time continuum with my meddling, and caused at least fourteen more hilarious traffic accidents.
ZOOLINGUALISM
That big chunk of syllables up there is the fancy-speak term for “talk to animals”. So now, I can channel my inner Doctor Doolittle and converse with all the world’s creatures like they were my closest friends. Except for crows. Crows would just continue to be jerks.
“CAW CAW, YA UGLY DOUCHE!”
How I’d Use It:
I’d wake up in the morning to the sound of a sunrise symphony of songbirds outside my window, belting out songs that, when translated to humanspeak, are actually quite underwhelming. For example, starlings apparently have a really big thing for Barry Manilow. And I don’t know about you, but if you were shook awake from sleep by a cacophonic rendition of “Copacabana” every goddamn morning, you’d probably start getting a little irritable, to say the least. But fortunately, I’d be able to set up an arrangement with the local squirrels to pelt nuts at a few of the loudest offenders.
After stirring myself awake, I’d go to the zoo, because really now, where else would I go with powers like mine? Oh, I think I’ll just stroll on my the city park and talk to some person’s dog, totally not creeping them out at all, or give the lobsters a few witticisms to remember as they’re boiled alive at the seafood joint. So yeah, zoo it is. Now to the average observer, I’d be a crazy man in colorful pajamas screaming at polar bear island. In reality, I’d be recruiting a crack team of wacky sidekicks for my crusade against crime. With my special powers and silver tongue, I’d have a tiger, a rhinoceros, and an owl under my command in no time. Just as I’m getting to the sale with a couple of sea lions, I’d notice a few guys approaching me from the corner of my eye: zoo security. I’d also notice that every single other person in the zoo is panicking for their life because some freak is setting all the animals loose.
As the security men threaten to ban me from the establishment (this zoo just plain hates fun) I’d decide to take a stand. My animal comrades and I will not stand for the zoo’s totalitarian rule any longer! With my direction, my animals would begin to destroy the zoo piece by piece, without rest, until this unjust monument to banning me is eradicated from the land. Go, elephants! Stomp the overpriced concessions flat! Primates, go forth, and bombard all you see with a thick layer of feces! Koalas, you guys…well, you guys can just sit there looking adorable. It really does wonders for team morale.
We’re fightin’ for these guys, fellas. We’re doing it for the koalas.
As my nonhuman minions proceed to demolish the zoo to the ground, the rapidly fleeing zoo staff would be replaced by the likes of the National Guard. As if I’m one to be stopped by the likes of them, though, right? Like an orchestral conductor, my thoughts and gestures guide my armies of cuddly critters right into the fray, creating a man-on-beast war that is sure to skew animal attack statistics for years to come. Enraged grizzlies disembowel men alive with the swipe of a single claw, swarms of snakes and scorpions slip through the military’s forces, biting or stinging any ankles unfortunate enough to be in their way. Rabid chipmunks ruthlessly devour anything below the knees. Within time, they’d retreat, and I would be left alone amidst a murdered zoo, a fresh massacre, and scores of bloodthirsty animals.
So after that, I’d probably go get some Dippin’ Dots or something.
How I’d Actually Use It:
This is my dog.
Her name is Margie and the first thing I would do is talk to her about what life is like as a dog. I’d ask her if it’s really nice sleeping all day and doing nothing. I’d ask her what dog food tastes like. I’d ask her why in the world she keeps eating her own poop. I’d ask her a whole bunch of other questions, too, but this article is about me and superpowers, not “Questions I’d Ask my Dog if She Could Answer Them”, although that’s not too bad of an idea for one.
I’d immediately find little doggy-sized clothes – a trenchcoat, fedora, and tie – and then find a matching outfit for myself, leading up to Margie and I opening the world’s most adorable detective agency. Of course, because I know nothing about forensic sciences and because Margie is a dog, our business would pull an M1-Abrams and tank within the first fiscal quarter. Bankrupt in our wallets but not in our hearts, Margie and I would pursue several more business ventures, like a wacky TBS sitcom, a novelty gift shop, and a theme restaurant.
As our credit score somehow manages to reach negative infinity, Margie and I would finally become the human/animal team I'd always dreamed of as a pair of ragtag fugitives - a boy and his dog forever on the run from angry credit agencies and their leagues of mercenary assassins.
