I have the ability to drink a single drop of alcohol and immediately turn fire-engine red. It scares children.

I'm narcoleptic/cataplexic and I believe this is what gives me my: Superhuman sexual orgasmic powers.

• 1) Does not need foreplay
• 2) Can have sex for hours and hours straight
• 3) Can give and recieve many many orgasims
• 4) Teaches sexual techniques and hygiene

• 1) A large meal [hard to be so active after eating]
• 2) Back pain
• 3) Sinus congestion

4) Can't spell weak.

4) Can't spell weak.


Sorry,Orgasmic powers override the inability to spell!

Weeknesses

Aunt Flo

My asthma has given me mind control powers, which was especially helpful in my childhood years.

When I was young, not only did I have two left feet, but all my limbs were replaced with left feet, making me as athletic as a pickle jar. Well, maybe not as athletic as a pickle jar, because when kids chose teams they always chose the pickle jar before they chose me.

Anyway, needless to say, I didn't like PE much. So, when my mom one day decided that I was feeling too sick to participate in that day's running in circles for twenty minutes activity, I was thrilled. She revealed my secret powers by telling me my magic heroic code phrase: "I HAVE ASTHMA"

I tried this code phrase on my overweight, overtestosteroned gym teacher Mary when she prepared the class for the run. Much to my delight, it worked better than Billy Mays' MIGHTY PUTTY! IT HAS THE STRENGTH TO PULL THIS FULLY LOADED 80,000 POUND TRACTOR TRAILER!

Mary replied in that monotone, dreamy way that brainwashed people respond, "You can sit over there while the others run."

Victory was mine! I sat happily in the corner cackling loudly at the other foolish childrens' small rumps bouncing sadly to the torturous activity of running as Mary whipped them to go faster. I felt this new phenomenal power rushing and wheezing through my veins. That year, my magic got me out of numerous basketball games, dreaded dodgeball, running tests, and spelling tests.

I have even found good use of my magical powers recently. For instance:

Emerson: "You're fat, go for a walk."
Super Pops: "I HAVE ASTHMA"

And POOF, the Emerson is left totally confused and discombobulated, and I sit my merry ass in my couch and watch some Food Network.

Thanks, Asthma!

I have mind control powers.


By reading this post you have given me brief control of you mind.


... and now I have made you frustrated because of this stupid post.


... and now you are irritated with me because of my idiocy.


step one of my evil plan is complete.

I have the world's absolute greatest penis. With absolute power comes absolute responsibility.

In order to maintain civility and decency as a person, I control it with the guise of impotence and premature ejaculation. I'm so good at keeping it in check that I do it without thinking or even being aware of it now. I am a sort of a zen master of the soft spitter. A black belt of the slinky snake, if you will. I must maintain this control lest hordes of women lay around with broken backs while others die from sheer ecstacy or slip into endorphin induced comas. Jealousy would run rampant and after a while, it would just turn into massive inbreeding.

It would not be very easy to make friends if all the men in the world had their mates stolen from them by me, plus most of the world would turn gay. I wouldn't blame them, but I don't think gays would even appreciate this. This is my blessing. This is my curse.

I don't expect any thanks, but you're all welcome.

Useless without pictures.

It looks ordinary from a distance with a wide angle lens, it's not an actual dork or anything, just been called one. Again, it's not my super power, my ability to make it less than what it's naturally capable of is. I carry a lot of shame and guilt for what I've done...

Gwyneth
Before



After



Terry
Before



After

SASH!!!

*dry humps sash's leg before running out of thread*

I have a severe phobia of women. They mortify me. On the plus side, this fear has helped me develop superhuman powers in the art of stalking, voyeurism, watching you through the window at your computer while you type with one hand ... I mean, appreciating beauty from a distance.

4) Can't spell weak.

Your rite.

4) Can't spell weak.

No no, you misunderstood. Those are the things she does weekly, thus, 'weeknesses'.

After he finished sobbing,

I just love family bonding.

Not quite a disease, but I have this odd little habit of scrolling to the top of the page before closing a tab.

When I don't, I try to pretend that the next person will load the page where i left off, and get completely mind Frosted about what just happened.

My body's ability to regenerate from injuries is inversely proportional to how cool the story is that is associated with the injury. Punched in the face and stare down the other guy until he walks away? Doesn't leave a mark. My dog runs into my face and gives me a black eye? Hangs around at least a week.

So, to this day I still have the scar from where I burned myself with a peanut butter sandwich.

Well Sash, your ticket to hell certainly has been worth a few good laughs on my part.

AC what kind of peanutbutter sandwich?

Although most would consider alcoholism a terrible disease I think that I'm doing the free world a favor by consuming far more booze than my share. I like to think that by drinking at home I'm keeping people like this guy (by means of diminishing his potential supply) and myself from really hurting someone. As we all know, prevention is the key to a crime free society.

A friend of mine continually bragged that she was a Supertaster. All that changed when she got pregnant. Tasting wasn't so super anymore, and she didn't have time to brag, what with all the projectile vomiting.

Peoriagrace,

It was my own little invention fueled by preteen curiosity, shaped by total culinary ineptitude, and forged by a total lack of supervision in the kitchen.

I took my basic understanding of grilled cheese, which required ingredients that I did not have, and my mastery of the inner workings of a peanut butter sandwich for which I did have all the relevant ingredients. Two minutes later, after a brief interlude of crackling lightning and a manically laughing hunchback, I gave my creation life. By "life" I mean a layer of superheated oil that easily managed to penetrate the defenses of a layer of cheap porous bread.

I guess technically speaking it was a childish attempt at a grilled peanut butter sandwich, but, if you are a subscriber to the theory that the inventor of a item gets to name it then it's proper name was "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HOLYCHRISTTHATSMARTS!" Sandwich.

Nice multi, HH.

I guess technically speaking it was a childish attempt at a grilled peanut butter sandwich

And this seemed like a good idea...why?

Ravos,

I never said I thought it was a good idea. It was more like a desperate measure sort of tactic.

I posses the power of cheese.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HOLYCHRISTTHATSMARTS!"

Who says "that smarts" anymore? What is this, a 50's speakeasy?

You rube. Get on the trolley.

Who says "that smarts" anymore? What is this, a 50's speakeasy?

You rube. Get on the trolley.

Children who are more certain of a parental beating for profanity than one for setting fire to the kitchen, that's who.