Y'know what? The whole woe-is-me whiny-ass Marvel super-hero bullshit really doesn't work for me when the character in question is a suave, handsome, priapic billionaire. And it's not like he's Bruce Wayne, where he always manages to narrowly avoid getting it on with some gorgeous gal in his civilian identity. (And if Bruce Wayne ever did let things get that far, I just know his mind would be busy drawing up plans for a new Batmobile engine or concocting an antidote to the Scarecrow's newest psychotropic gas -- even as his scarred, sinewy member mechanically and efficiently probed for her clitoris.) Naw, I always got the impression that Tony Stark is deeply in love with being Tony Stark. So Young Gerry Conway will have to excuse me if I don't go all weepy at the sight of a wealthy ladies' man who has to drop everything at a moment's notice so he can put on a super-suit and fly around.
Alright, who here wanted that open briefcase to reveal a clown costume or a pair of glittery short-shorts and a sequined headband instead of the Iron Man suit? ...Just me? Okay, then.