Whatever happened to the Milky Bar Kid?


Whatever happened to the Milky Bar Kid?

I mean the Milky Bar Kid from my childhood – the late 70’s and early 80’s, who’d save the day each time the banditos attempted a milky bar heist. He must be well into his 30’s now, and I often wonder where he ended up.

I bet he’s in some really dull job, like working in a pension processing depot. Maybe to this day he’s still riddled with the insecurity that causes him to stand up on a wooden box at afternoon tea break time and announce “The Milky Bars are on me!” so he can remain popular.

I bet they all rip the piss out of his cowboy outfit at the pensions depot. Not to his face, obviously – they wouldn’t want to miss out on their afternoon Milky Bar, not that he’d ever deny them. Secretly, though, it eats away at his soul that they ridicule him whilst being perfectly happy to undulge in his wares.

Some days are worse than others – he’ll catch himself in such dispair that he starts to wonder how much more respect he’d command if his guns weren’t plastic. But no, that’s not the kind of recognition he wants. He just wants someone to show him some unconditional love that isn’t bought by sweet white chocolate favours.

He never regrets taking on the mantle of The Milky Bar Kid, though. He made a promise to protect and distribute, and each time they sung The Milky Bar Kid is tough and strong it swelled his heart with so much pride he felt that he would burst with happiness.

It wasn’t a job, it was an honour and a privilage.

If he has one regret, it’s not following things up with that cute mexican girl who would gush “Eets da Meelky Bar Keed!” each time she saw him. At the time his young ego adored the fact she was so in awe of his pristine white uniform and undeniable talent for thwarting banditos. Perhaps if just once, instead of basking in the worship of those who were feasting on his Milky Bars, he’d instead turned to the cute mexican girl and told her that hers was the face he looked for in the crowd each time.

But no. Back then he’d been sure that her love, too, was based solely on his prowess at preventing Milky Bar heists. He’s sure she ended up with one of the banditos in the end. Such is life.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s almost three in the afternoon. Soon they’ll be wanting his bounty. And, like every other day, he’ll deliver right on time.

For the Milky Bar Kid it’s not just a job. It’s an honour and a privilage.