Lucius didn’t know quite how to touch on the issue to such a loving, generous symbiote, but he had some problems with Marvel Comics, particularly their head writer during the mid-to-late 60s Stan Lee. “Rumor was…you mean an appearence in a publishing product of any form after the year 1839 but…isn’t that racist?”

The symbiote couldn’t believe this. “RACIST?! RACIST?! Black goop so I’m RACIST?”

But Lucius would explain it to him with a calm smile. “Mister Symbiote, what do you do to Spiderman when you land on him? You become what the KKK would characterize as the difference between the white man and the ‘Negro’.”

“WHAT?!” the symbiote said with an embarrassed, caught red-headed chuckle. “I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh no?” Lucius replied. “‘Yeah dawg, I’ll pay my rent, on the first of fix-my-door sucka?”

“He’s right! All I’ve ever seen Mr. Ditkovich ever do was eat and use the bathroom! Eat and use the bathroom! Eat and use the bathroom! If he didn’t have a single pay toilet for the whole building we’d never see his fat ass outside that one-bedroom kitchen!”

To which Lucius goes back in his impersonation of Tobey McGuire under its influence. “Every woman baby. What’s up sweet thaaang let me tap that.”

“WHAT?!” the symbiote said.

It was clear that Lucius would have to go on. And so he did. “4 times the athletic ability he’s got now? Saves no one?”

“You sure love to narrate, Morgan Freeman.”

“You better love to narrate when the lines you’ve got to memorize include “kavlar utility harness, electromagnetic grapple gun, wiith three-hundred-and-fifty-pound-test monofilment” and “nomex survival suit for advanced infantry, kablar biweave, reinforce joints.” 

“Yeah,” chuckled the symbiote. “And DC being racist never crossed your mind for a moment, did it?”