Zebza Gladglo was a Portuguese used computer salesman from Idaho. Despite being a very skinny fellow, he had remarkably broad, bony shoulders and large hands. His oval face and massive bushy black unibrow -- along with an unkempt mop of shaggy black hair -- gave him the general appearance of a poorly made scarecrow. Everyone knew him as the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back -- most people didn’t want his shirts, however, since his budgeting skills only allowed for one visit to the laundromat a month. That wouldn’t have been bad if he had owned more than one set of clothes.

Soo…one day Zeb was sitting outside of his old trailer, enjoying the dusty smell of a night in the trailer park. His partially hairless Chihuahua/St. Bernard mix was by his side, staring at a hole in the ground for no apparent reason. The plastic flamingo flock in his splotchy yard wavered gently back and forth -- although Zeb was unsure if it was the night breeze or the six-pack of Buds he had downed.

Suddenly, a brilliant white light centered on his threadbare beach-chair. He staired up at it, tempted to go towards it. He wasn’t afraid of going to heaven right now, despite being young. It would make for an interesting visit…besides, God would throw him back anyway. Soon, however, his chair began to levitate, and rise higher…higher…

His dog barked at the hole in the ground, apparently sensing something might be wrong but not breaking its lethal focus to see.

Zeb would remember little of that night -- the night he was abducted by the Mighty Frasier. He awoke back in his chair, his dog still staring at a hole in the ground. He could feel…changed, though. As he belched thoughtfully, he heard the broken fire alarm in his trailer go off again. He groaned inwardly.

Ugly Elma Swads was almost instantly stomping down the gravel lane to his house, cussing up a storm about his waking her twenty-nine kids. Really, he’d never bothered to count, but had just guessed that was the number. He watched her with morbid fascination as beads of tobacco juice dribbled down the strands her of majestic flowing beard. As she raised rusted frying pan over her head, she broke into a dead run straight at him. A slow fear rose deep inside of Zeb at the sight of her prodigious bosoms swinging between her knees like oversized testicles. He abstractly wondered what in the world when on inside this woman’s mind.

Suddenly, a giant Frasier Fir tree popped up out of the ground right beside of Elma. She ground to a halt, and flinched. Zeb instantly realized that he was somehow now able to read her mind, as if the tree was some kind of telepathic cell tower.

Aside from a few coupons and a dime-store zombie novel, there wasn’t much in her mind to read. So, he just stared at her really hard, trying to figure out what else he could do to the lady. As he stared, he felt his unibrow tingle, then a tie-dyed puffy glowing cube flew out of his unibrow, dripping a trail of oily lube as it went. It zipped straight at Elma like greased lightning, smacking her right in the face and flinging her backwards into Old Eddie’s supercharged electric fence.

The sound of the explosion was heard for miles, and as the flaming debris of the decimated trailer park fell to the earth around him, Zebza Gladglo decided that a new day had come.

Of course, that’s what always happened the moment after midnight.

Frasier Affliction:
Zeb can generate giant Frasier Fir trees to act as telepathic cell towers, allowing him to access the minds of all nearby. He can then read their minds, or implant a vicious combination of hallucinations designed to destroy their intellect and leave them his helpless minions. A typical hallucination is a combination of Barney the Purple Dinosaur, Teletubbies, psychedelic dancing Christmas trees, and the nonstop dialogue of twenty Undertale fangirl feminist liberal extremists. All at once.

Pixelation:
Zeb can generate infinite tie-dyed glowing pixels. These are puffy cubes about one foot long on each side and possessing the consistency of marshmallows. They are coated in and secrete a black oily lube constantly for no apparent reason. The precise lube is Men’s Pomegranate Excalibur. These are generated by his unibrow, and can be fully manipulated by his mind. They will fly wherever he tells them, with a max speed of 500 mph.

Zeb Himself:
Zeb’s only true ability is a freakish talent with staplers. He always carries one with him, with several spare boxes of staples. Not a staple gun, mind you…just a stapler.

Frasier Affliction:
The range of this ability is limited to within two hundred feet of a tree. Zeb can only generate five trees at a time, which means that to move his range he has to get rid one of tree and replace it with another new one. Retracting trees takes a couple seconds (as opposed to the near-instant growth of them in the first place). It is also somewhat tiring mentally, and makes it quite difficult to keep mobile opponents in range. If you can retain your sanity through all possible afflictions (consisting primarily of the most mind-altering intellect-reducing material he can think of), you will then be invulnerable to his Affliction. Can also be cured with allergy meds.

Pixelation:
Despite their speed and versatility, they are still marshmallowy. A 500 mph marshmallow is not particularly lethal so long as it doesn’t knock you into something dangerous. Additionally, achieving high-speeds does require acceleration -- they might move fast, but still are subject to physics. The lube -- while greasing up opponents and causing them issues -- also makes them rather likely to slide off of opponents instead of landing direct, forceful hits. Zeb can also slip on his own lube.

Zeb Himself:
Zeb is no star physical specimen. He’s been in bar brawls, and generally doesn’t accomplish much besides keeping himself from being too badly hurt. Strong, in a kind of wiry sense, but nothing that couldn’t be bested by a healthy guy.

Zeb is a weasel. Simply put. Arrogant and snide in an odd sort of way, horrendously over self-confident, convinced he is God’s gift to woman kind. Women tend to view him as Satan’s gift, so at least he’s not wrong about the supernatural deal. Aside from this, he’s relatively disinterested in things. He thinks it makes him seem casually cosmopolitan. Really it just comes across as apathetically asshattish.

He really likes computers, but doesn’t know jack shit about them. He has no real idea what he plans to do, but so far since his encounter with The Mighty Frasier has satisfied himself with being a part-time criminal, part-time deadbeat.