But Iron Man was sick of the crap. Being

But Iron Man was sick of the crap. Being a hero though technology kind of makes you a second class amongst the heroes who intrinsically have powers, like

Superman or Spiderman. Iron Man was forced into the same tertiary category as Batman, who had been there so long he'd made a little house for himself out of his Bat Cape. Iron Man

would not settle for obscurity. He would hunt down every animator until someone would produce another episode. He would draw himself, but his laser beams kept

sputtering every time he pointed at the paper, and he found that he had no artistic talent whatsoever. In fact, his only real talent was for

pushing things over. He started with garbage cans, cows, and folding chairs. He later could knock over minivans, lamp posts, and members of congress. He formed a gang of pushers.

They met little resistance & expanded territory pushing over all who crossed their path until they encountered the Sock'em Bop gang, but a Pusher fell in love with a Sock'em gal

pills on his dying grandmother. Her body was broken, but her mind and spirit remained strong. "You're a no-goodnik," she chastised. He sulked from the room, needing a pill or two.

Searching through his grandmother's mothball-scented purse for the pills, he came upon a photo of his long gone grandfather. His face stared mournfully from the picture, almost as

if to say"No! Don't do it! I don't want your grandmother here! I want eternal peace! If you give her those pills, I'll haunt your ass forever."He snapped the purse shut & ran away.