When I was about five, I began having one bad sore throat after another. My parents took me to the doctor, who would give me a shot and then I’d get better. For awhile.
Finally, the doctor said my tonsils would have to come out.
I was very curious about all this, of course. What did “come out” mean? How did the doctor do that? Would I be awake? Would it hurt?
Ok. Here’s where it all begins. The Big Lie. This is how they get people to buy lotto tickets. Or suicide bombers to push the button. The Big Lie is the whopper that closes the deal. Money, multiple virgins, and, in my case, ice cream. All I wanted.
So the tonsils were removed after they gave me ether. What no one told me in the rush to Mount Ice Cream was that ether is the greatest emetic ever. I woke up puking, spent the next three days puking, and even today the mere mention of the word ether makes me queasy.
There was no ice cream. I learned the lesson that, despite a ton of shit, there very well may be no pony.