"I'm the Punchernaut, Bitch!"

I swear to God I yelled that at a guy tonight.

For a small town, you'd be surprised at how many people try to work their way up the crime ladder to supervillain status. I mean, it's small-town Indiana. You'd figure the most evil folks around here were mean drunks with shotguns.

I should be so lucky.

I said I'd describe my powers a little better, so I better get that out of the way before I go into some of my adventures and stuff. I don't want any lame surprises. Here's the best way to put it. I'm always strong. That's my main thing. I can punch the hell out of things, which is why I call myself The Punchernaut. I can kick things and headbutt things pretty hard, too, but "The Punchkickheadbutternaut" doesn't have the same ring to it, and the "-butternaut" part of that sounds like some expensive German candy I'd get for my Grandma for Christmas.

I'm pretty fast, for a fat guy. I mean, I outrun speeding police cars most of the time. That's just because of the strength in my legs, though. I crack concrete sometimes. I feel like the Hulk.

And speaking of which, the angrier I get, the stronger I seem to get. It's probably adrenaline, but I think there's seriously a connection. I also get stronger during and after I take a good beating. It's perfect because I have a talent not only for punching, but also for being punched.

A lot.

By big guys.

I've got a little bit of Wolverine going on, too, because I heal faster than most people should. Not as fast as Wolverine, I mean. He's like, immediately. I take a few days. Once, a couple years back before I got the superhero gig, I fell down a long road on a very steep hill at band camp. At the bottom my head bounced like a basketball off this big concrete gutter that went down the side of the hill. Big gash, blood everywhere. The camp nurse said I was lucky to be alive. That was the third day of camp. By the end of the week, when we were packing to go home, my buddy Tony pointed out that all I had left was a white line.

Two days later and even that was gone.

But then, aside from the superhuman strength and the handy Marvel "healing factor," I've got this other power that's totally circumstantial. If, for some reason, I absolutely need to fly, I can. And I do. But if I don't NEED to, I can't.

It also depends on this: If it's cool to do at the time or not.

For example, it's always cool to walk through fire and come out unscathed. Herr Explodiert blows up an oil rig going through town? Guess who dives through the flames and tackles him into the gutter before knocking his Kraut brains out?

That's right. Me.

I'll even be on fire, but I don't feel anything. Makes an awesome picture in the newspaper, too. Me standing there in my tie looking all stoic with my shoulder on fire. People eat that crap up.

But say I'm lighting a candle in my office at work, I can burn myself with the match. It's a mad world.

It's a real bitch, but I guess it's my gift...

And my curse.

I love being cheesey like that. They should make comics about me.

Nothing's been happening on my patrols lately. There was a liquor store robbery last night and the cops found two very confused men with money stuffed in their mouths thrown up into a tree.

No need to thank me.

I'm just your friendly neighborhood Punchernaut.