I’m not going to claim that Jack Kirby got his ideas by looking at stuff on his desk, or from the remains of his hastily-heated discount noodle lunch. But I do wonder how much of his time was spent at bad steak joints while coming up with his scripts, because this:

Is “Sizzler”. Yes, that’s right, this electrically-charged flying slab of grill grease is named after a nationwide purveyor of seared cow flesh. Luckily, he’s a villain. Hopefully after his thrashing at the hands of Silver Star he can get back to home base, the “Sirloin Stockade”, and kick it old-school with his sidekick Shoney Big-Boy.

I can’t get that scene from “White Men Can’t Jump” out of my head, when Wesley Snipe’s idiot friend keeps chanting “We goin’ Sizzler, we goin’ Sizzler!” after they win some money. This is a good case of a pretty decent looking character betrayed by a lame name. Would “Rocky” have been successful with the same script and actors if it were titled “Jackrabbit P. Fusslepott”? Certainly not!

And so Sizzler, despite springing from the pen of the great Jack Kirby, I mock thee.

Considering the carnivorous-bikini-wearing tousle-haired no-toed blond apparently grooving to her own crazy beat; the crouching, leering, perverted toad behind the man with the silly frilly cape; the half-naked muscle-bound oaf at the rear; the pink and orange-wearing lecherous mariachi player; and the nudist glowing girl just off-panel to the left, I wouldn’t blame you for suspecting that this is actually some sort of super-villain swinger’s club. Can Lube-Lad be far away? The room is literally packed with super-villains, all of whom are gathered to plan Silver Star’s defeat, but I’m pretty sure that’s just an excuse for them all to get funky.

Regardless, if the man in red and blue is indeed the Emcee as his letter logos would have you believe, there’s no way this party is going to rock. No one with that kind of massive upper-body musculature who would wear a butt-length cape like that can possibly have anything but disco in their music collection, and even Dr. Lightning Arrow Fellow behind him is turning away in disgust. And when you’ve lost the Shaft Master, you’ve really lost your groove, baby.

Not to mention how bad the guitar playing from our masked color-blind minstrel must be. Honestly, if you can’t tell that pink bows clash with orange frilly lace piping, you have no chance of making it in the gay musical villain business. I would bet his only real super-power is Sartorial Suckage, striking disgust in the heart of the fashionable. Throw in the fact that even if you score in this crazy villain sex-club hangout, the woman will eat your “sidekick” with her drooling demon facegina, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for night club disaster, my friend.

No wonder most super-villains work alone.

(Image and characterfrom “Silver Star”, No. 1, ©1993, Jack Kirby.)

If this is Keith Giffen’s adorable, zany Ambush Bug:

Then is this Ambush Bug on drugs?

Maybe Ambush Bug after not getting a good night’s sleep? Too much Ambien?

Close.

Actually that’s “Bedbug”, a throwaway villain from the Topps version of “Jack Kirby’s Silver Star”. He’s bursting through the wall there with “Slammazon”, Gasbag, and a couple of other equally insane characters. And yes, it’s ever bit as awesome as it sounds. Sometimes it’s not a knockoff, it’s an archetype. And as I learned from Joseph Campbell, archetypes is cool.

From the pages of “Jack Kirby’s Secret City” comes the ferocious General Ordiz and his … tape recorder?

Seriously, his shtick is that has a tape recorder strapped to his chest with a long wired microphone thingie in his hand. At least I sure hope that’s a microphone, because the other thing it looks like, well, it’s not really appropriate for a family-oriented blog. It would, however, be very scary to see one wielded by your opponent.

I don’t have any issues of the saga wherein General Ordiz takes any sort of direct action, but I’ll bet his trademark Witty Repartee is something like “Any last words?” right before he beats the snot out of his enemy with his club/microphone/deviant toy.

(Image ©1993, Jack Kirby.)

This may be the greatest bad super of all time. Or the baddest great super, I can’t decide.

How can you not love a giant, inflatable guy named “Gasbag” whose power is to belch out various noxious clouds, accompanied by an explosive FRAAAPPP? I mean, we’re all either working alongside or related to someone exactly like this; let’s just be thankful the real life versions don’t actually wear spandex, or they wouldn’t be the only ones hurling at supersonic velocities.