"Rob Liefeld, you will never not be popular!"

Liefeld, you're not an artist...

"You know what? Even if this dude weren’t Quadzilla there’s no way he’d be able to put his legs together with all those pouches and garters and whateverthefucks. Jesus, look how high up that one band around his leg is. What purpose could that possibly serve? His pants are so uncomfortably tight that his groin is puckering into some sort of overachieving asterisk. His belt is juuuuuuuust under his nipples. The real capper, though, is the kneepads. What the fuck must go through Liefeld’s head when he’s drawing a character? “Yep, crew cut, I’ll put Boba Fett’s rocket on his back. Hmm, oh, GOTTA go with the metal shoulderpads and enormous Run-DMC gold rope chain. Okay, belt…uh…pouchespouchespouchespouchespouchespouches leg things, oh, KNEEEEEEPADSSSSSS yessss.” In conclusion, I hate Rob Liefeld and he should be thrown in a well."

"A fun Liefeld drinking game: take a shot for every pouch he draws on a character. Oh great, now you have alcohol poisoning."