Batman has Bruce Wayne. Superman has Clark Kent. Spider-Man has Peter Parker. Deadpool has Rob Liefeld.

The greatest superheroes are only as good as their alter egos. The difference between Deadpool’s second self and those of the characters responsible for his inspiration is that his is real. Whether you know his name or not, Liefeld has made his mark on the comics you love. His style is immediately identifiable, and his greatest character is about to get his comeuppance.

Deadpool will be in theaters in February but his story begins in 1991. That’s when a young artist at Marvel introduced the world to a schizophrenic mercenary who would change the way comics were read.

“I’m inking and writing The New Mutants #98,” Liefeld says. “I want the book to reflect everything about me. You’ll notice Deadpool is on so many pages and that’s because he is so striking. He was a supporting character, but he got so much oxygen because the fans just loved him. In the era of snail mail, Deadpool was getting more letters than I’d ever seen.”

Deadpool was a creation of necessity for Liefeld. With Marvel’s prominent characters, the “cool toys” Liefeld calls them wryly, already under the care of established artists, he decided to make his own.

“I didn’t have access to Wolverine, but I backdoored my way into the Wolverine universe. Wolverine is Weapon X. That X stands for 10, correct? Okay, so Deadpool is Weapon IX,” Liefeld recalls of his pitch to Marvel with a seat-of-your-pants enthusiasm you can imagine ratcheted up to 11 in 1991. “I took inspiration from the Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito movie Twins. In the middle of that movie, a scientist explains how they were created and he points at Arnold and says, ‘you’re the good stuff,’ and he looks at Devito and says, ‘you’re the crap,’ and that’s Wolverine and Deadpool.”

Partnered with Fabian Nicieza, Liefeld created the mutated antihero with a penchant for incessantly swearing while breaking the fourth wall. His costume and name are amalgamations of other heroes – notably Spider-Man and DC Comics’ Deathstroke. But Deadpool’s personality is all Liefeld. He’s an absurd character. Liefeld allows his creation to bounce around the panels barely containing him with demented glee. Deadpool is waggish, profane, bombastic, and utterly impossible. He refuses to be ignored, literally demanding the audience interacts with him.

Liefeld is no different. He hardly bothers breathing as he bounces from one anecdote to the next. While Liefeld isn’t a katana-wielding mercenary, he shares his creation’s impetuousness, passion, and surprising thoughtfulness. These qualities play throughout every panel he’s ever inked of Deadpool in the most preposterous of ways.

“When I pitched Marvel on Deadpool I told them it was Spider-Man with katanas and machine guns,” Liefeld says. “Spider-Man was darker in 1991. He was in his thirties with marital problems. So Deadpool was a response to that. I wanted to bring back the smartass sensibilities of the Spider-Man I read as a kid.”

There’s no true beginning or end to Deadpool lore. When Liefeld is asked to pick a definitive Deadpool story, he can’t.

“Start from the beginning,” he suggests.

The truth is, you could pick up any issue of Deadpool and immediately have everything you’d possibly need to enjoy the experience. Where a character like Batman is accompanied with a weighty backstory and gone through several generations of storytellers, Deadpool can feel almost like a sitcom thanks to his relatively short existence and Liefeld’s approach.

“There’s a Deadpool for everyone,” Liefeld says. “You want Deadpool hunting Moby Dick, there’s a Deadpool for you. You want Deadpool marrying Death, there’s a Deadpool for you. You want a Deadpool for your 8-year-old, that Deadpool exists.”

He has an innate understanding of commercialism and like every other attribute of Liefeld’s, this one has found its way into Deadpool as well. He’s blended art and business together to such a point that it’s impossible to decipher where one begins and the other ends. He discusses Deadpool’s marketability like one of his signature katana blades. He notes that Deadpool’s costume, derived from Spider-Man, was designed with the goal of making it easy for his readers to draw.

“Deadpool’s visual is almost 100% informed by Spider-Man,” Liefeld says. “Look at the ease of which Spider-Man was drawn. It all comes down to the manipulation of shapes. Kids want to be able to draw their favorite characters. Part of Deadpool’s pull is the simplicity, down to the solid black and red suit.”

Liefeld didn’t wait for his turn at the helm of a premier Marvel title like X-Men or The Avengers, he simply made his own. A Mountain Dew-chugging twentysomething just up and made a character so popular he couldn’t be ignored.

And then there is his drawing. A Liefeld page from the 1990’s is as identifiable as a Norman Rockwell cover on The Saturday Evening Post. His characters possessed exaggerated bodies, enormous muscles, and a limitless array of accessories – for fun, count how many pouches you see on the utility belt of a Liefeld character. If you grew up in the ’90s, this was how nearly every one of your superheroes was drawn. It’s the style Liefeld pioneered. It’s also a style older artists have sneered at.

What started as establishment criticism has morphed into a full-fledged Internet Thing: Google “Rob Liefeld” and every other result centers on how terrible an artist he is. These sites are funny, mean, and not entirely fair. No one has been harsher than renowned artist Barry Windsor-Smith, who said Liefeld’s drawing was like “bacon on your plate,” adding “he has nothing to offer” as an artist.

It’s difficult to parse the criticism. Maybe it’s the type of admonishment one earns from peers after achieving too much success too soon. Maybe it’s the sentiments of artists who interpret Liefeld’s work as a cheap caricature of their own. Or, maybe Liefeld is a genius. Maybe he started an avant-garde movement in comics that his predecessors weren’t prepared for.

Liefeld refuses to discuss any of it.

“I don’t give any of my critics any time,” Liefeld says. “I’ve never met one of them. People say these things but never to my face. Ever. So I don’t give that stuff a foothold of any sort.”

It’s the only point in our conversation that the exuberance in his voice disappears and is replaced with something that feels pretty close to anger. Then again, every good antihero has an edge to him.

We turn our attention to the Deadpool movie.

It’s filthy.

Deadpool will be R-rated when it hits theaters in February, a rare thing for a comic book film. Liefeld doesn’t think it could have been done any differently without destroying a piece of his character.

“When I read the script in 2010, my mouth was on the floor, it was the R-rated spectacle you’re going to see in February.” Liefeld says. “And for it to go this long without them screwing with the script is a miracle. It’s a credit to Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick’s genius.”

Liefeld goes so far as to say that the film will change how comic book movies are made. His commitment to the grandiose is admirable.

“The movie is a powerhouse. It’s raw … I don’t know how you come out of the theater as someone between the age of 18-30 without this being your favorite movie.”

More than anything else, Liefeld wants fans to love it. That sentiment seems to be the motivation for every comic Liefeld draws. Deadpool exists because Liefeld wanted a character people liked that was his own. Everything else is just a random pouch on a utility belt.

“Deadpool has always been carried by the fans, they’ve coauthored him for almost 25 years,” Liefeld says. “Every time I see that red and black costume on a convention floor, I’m tickled pink. There’s no cooler feeling.”