"I think I heard of you. Your some sort of comic big shot. Then your friends screwed you over and you died before the movies got really big." He had had to listen to Kyle winge about it for hours.
"It's not all that bad", Kirby admitted begrudgingly. Satan's paying me royalties for all the fucked up shit they've done with my characters. He's a nice guy that Satan. Well for the Prince of Darkness anyway.
Kenny searched his memory. "He's awfully insecure for the ruler of hell", he stroked his chin analytically. "And your awfully articulate for a seven year old super twerp." Kirby laughed to himself and downed another beer.
"I'll have you know I'm not a twerp. I'm Mysterion. Guardian and Protector of the Earth." Out of habit he stood up dramatically and held his cape close to his chest.
"Let me guess your some dark broody loner with a tragic backstory, nobody understands you, and maybe a shit personal life thrown in to make you more sympathetic.
Mysterion felt as if his entire life had been displayed before him. And been revealed to be a giant joke by two stoners from Colorado. "Fuck you."
Kirby gave a hearty laugh. "Sorry kid your not my type. And all the NAMBLA people are locked away in a room forced to listen to nothing but Nickleback." That seemed harsh even for a gritty cold hearted hero like Mysterion.
He said as much to Kirby, who just smiled and said, "Throw in a moral center that makes the hero shine like a light in the dark, even if it is his own darkness. Ah the classics."
Mysterion slammed his fist on the table angrily. "Well if my story is so generic than who the hell is this guy who keeps fucking with me? The TP bandit?"
Kirby grabbed another drink from the bar and chugged it down. "I don't know. What I do know is this. Sometimes a writer will have some sort of big plan for their story. Maybe it's gotten stale, maybe a big anniversary's coming up, maybe their just some lazy hack trying to be edgy. When that happens a writer will try to shake things up. Break their hero down. Destroy not only everything he knew and loved, but also his very sense of self, his idea of right and wrong, truth and justice." "That sounds like fucking angsty emo bullshit", Kenny opined as the bartender finally poured his drink.
"It is to an extent. I can't say I was that into it myself. Not that I didn't appreciate a little drama. But I know some great writers who worked on stories like these. And their not Emo Dweebs." The old man had a strange twinkle in his eye. Mysterion guessed it was a cataract. He knew Stan's Grandpa had one. He continued, "About a year after I drew Captain America punching Hitler in the face I joined the Army to knock his lights out for real. They broke me. They broke all of us. That's what they do. But they rebuilt us. And what rose was stronger and better than before. That's what a good writer will do with a character like you." I am not a character, Mysterion thought the thoughts the writer of this story allowed him to think.
"In fact young man, you remind me of a character Stan and Bill worked on back in the day. They gave him to some other guy in the 80's and he went through something like your going through. Now he's kicking ass on Netflix. Play your cards right and maybe you'll end up on the big screen. Just make sure to never sign away the rights to your creations to greedy ass managers."
"That actually sounds like good advice", not that Mysterion could tell what good advice was anymore.
He remembered his drink. Kenny snatched it up from the table. Right as he put the cup to his lisps he vanished.
"Huh, well that was odd", Jack "the King" Kirby said with a shrug.
The door burst open. "Quick quick everyone come! The big guy's freaking out!", a man with black hair, a German accent and a Charlie Chaplin mustache, yelled to the patrons. Everyone scrambled to their feet and ran out the bar.
Jack approached the messenger. "Thanks for the tip Bub but….", he curled his fist and rammed it upward across the German's face. "God I love hitting that fucker." He'd do it more often. But alas they rarely let the dictator out of his padded cell, padded with spikes. Where he had but one window to the outside world. A TV that showed him modern Germany. A multicultural nation, smaller than the one he had started with after WW1, tolerant, modern, kind, and despising him. That was a worse punishment than even Jack Kirby could dish out.
Once again Kenny woke up in his bed fresh from death. This time their was no screaming.
Hope you like my post modernism. Sorry for taking so long. Hope I didn't make to many mistakes with Jack Kirby, then again this show isn't exactly accurate with the celebrity characters it portrays. If you want to say anything message me. And as always hope you enjoyed the story.