MEMORY: In the Bronze Age, narration boxes often began with inelegant capstone words that made you think that the author pictured himself to be a screenwriter, or maybe a robot.
He was a very proficient athlete and became a rich and famous person, which is the goal of amateur athletics.
But then something awful happened to him. Not as awful as being in Can't Stop the Music or marrying a Kardashian, but still fairly unpleasant. He got really bad headaches. For no apparent reason. The same lack of apparent reason for which werewolves climb up skyscrapers, in fact.
Headaches so bad that they cause YOUR ENTIRE HEAD TO FALL OFF THE BACK OF YOUR SHOULDERS. Thank goodness for Tony's olympic-level reflexes or he'd be pulling a Pantha. Pity the Legion of Super-Heroes didn't exist yet; he could have applied. So Tony went to many doctors, in vain, to solve his headaches-so-bad-they-cause-your-head-to-fall-off problem.
Then, in a clever and efficient Neal Adams montage, he winds up scraping the bottom of the medical ethics barrel....
HOLY CHRIST ON A CRACKER, Professor MILO?!?!?
More on HIM tomorrow.