Sadly, such are the vicissitudes of life, that I've yet to be granted that ability by whatever higher power it is that controls my destiny.
That being the case, I'll just have to get my pleasure by watching other people do it.
But who to watch?
If he wanted to, Superman could melt people, with his heat vision - but, like a great big sap, he never does. And I've only ever seen Supergirl melt lions from outer space.
That means it's going to have to be the Spectre.
Adventure Comics #431 was my first introduction to the character - and I loved it; so much so that, from that point on, whenever I saw an issue of Adventure Comics with him in it, I had to buy it. I even had to buy issues he wasn't in.
That was simple enough.
It was that it was simple enough.
There were no twists and turns for the Spectre. Nor were there attempts to heroically preserve the lives of those he was fighting. Some bad guys showed up, the Spectre showed up and the bad guys checked out. It was the perfect strip for anyone who's ever wanted revenge on a bus driver for speeding off when he sees you running for his bus.
In Adventure Comics #431, a gang's robbed a security van, their leader gratuitously killing the guards in the process.
It's not long before the Spectre's on their trail and killing them in outré ways. The first one he sends plummeting off a cliff, the second he melts and the third he reduces to a skeleton.
Looking at it now, it's obvious the tale lacks a certain... ...drama. No obstacles get in our hero's way and his alter-ego of Jim Corrigan is left so totally undeveloped as a character that he might as well have stayed in his grave.
Clearly that didn't bother me as a child. All I cared about was the Spectre was cool - and he was cool because Jim Aparo made him look cool. If ever there was a strip Aparo was born to draw it was the Spectre, a character who was like Batman with the dial turned up to 11.
And if ever there was a strip Michael Fleisher was born to write it was the Spectre, the perfect vehicle for his love of inflicting death on everyone he encountered.
In all honesty, his writing's no more sophisticated or ambitious here than it was on all those terrible Atlas titles he inflicted on us but, being given a character who was perfect for his weird misanthropy, and an artist who knew exactly what to do with it, somehow meant it didn't seem to matter.