They call me Cracky.

I found a stack of vintage Playboys in a barn in a field not too far from where I grew up. I was 10 at the time. In that same barn I found a can of fluid that turned out to be really flammable and spent the rest of the summer trying to figure out what the melting point of things were. No real damage or mayhem, but looking back, there appear to have been loads of close calls (what's up "how hot can a bullet get before it explodes while I'm aping right over it" experiment). I did, however, undeniably prove that a home made napalmish like substance can take out an entire convoy of GI Joes riding those monster Tonka trucks. Cobra totally kicked ass in that salvo.

If I was a cat, I'd already be dead.

If it wasn't for my wife, I'd probably use my powers for evil, just because it's faster and way less effort.