He turns his hair into long biting sucking tendrils that tear at the flesh of passersby. He lights up thousands of cigarettes; each tendril takes one and grinds it into someone's left eye.

By the sheer power of his brainwaves and the harmonious symmetry of his crisscrossing brain lesions he perplexes supermarket baggers into exhibiting Parkinsonism.

He has bitten deeply into a weasel.

He is made of pre-chewed gluten.

His great-grandfather, who founded a beef jerky plant in Toronto (regretfully now closed due to the sagging economy), is perfectly preserved, despite having been dead for decades. The only flaw in his corpse is a hole produced by a particularly hard-working maggot who died immediately afterwards of indigestion.