I've been blessed with a condition known as "finger-toes". These are long, extra-dexterous toes capable of picking up small objects, dialing phones, minor watch repair, etc. It was something my dad had, and wasn't shy about using.
The worst thing my dad used to do was pinch us with his toes. The one thing about finger-toes is that they have the strength of like 8 fingers. (Two hands!) As the old joke goes, "Finger-toes are like regular fingers all hopped up on coke."
But it wasn't just the strength. Your dad's toes are a pretty gross thing to start off with when you're 10. And to top things off, he had a bit of a fungal infection that made his toenails look like cornchips. So you'd be doing something you're not supposed to be doing, keeping an eye on the upper half of your parents, and out of nowhere toes would come and assail you. It was almost like they were a separate entity. The top half is casually reading a paper, and the bottom half is like a swarm of punishing lobsters.
I have vowed to use my finger toes only for good, not evil. Picking up cheerios, passing toys, soft caresses when the kid hurts himself.
The kid is showing some mad skillz as well. As often as not, when he drops something, he goes for it with his feet before using his hands.
But there's a bit of the dark side in him. With unclipped nails, he's more like a swarm of snapping turtles. Pinchy to pinchy in three generations.