By John Kass

April 5^th, 2024

Against the advice of the Lovely Sicilian, I’ve decided to write a column involving gallstones.

I’ve never seen a gallstone. I’ve never written about them. I want nothing to do with them. The whole subject is icky and gross.

But I (bleeping) do feel them.

And I begin to write this from a hospital bed where I’ve gotten a video gamer’s thumb by repeatedly calling for the nurse for pain meds.

Gallstones are excruciating. The pain is positively medieval. Now I know what the Inquisition must’ve been like.

I’m a gentleman and I don’t want to go into the details of bodily functions, because this is johnkassnews.com, not “the View.”

So, you don’t need to hear more from me on that. Right now, though, I’m looking out at a gray April Indiana sky from my hospital room.

My hospital clear liquid diet included Jell-O, but without the chunks. There’s nothing that would make me more ill than finding floating pineapple chunks in the lime Jell-O.

“Eeewww,” said Courtney the nurse. “I’ve never heard of that. Gross.”

Betty explained my Jell-O obsession as if I were some crazed Dr. Van Helsing fighting Nosferatu. But I didn’t hear them as I was crying from pain like a big fat baby.

Ahhhhhhh morphine…

There are benefits under strict doctor supervision.

The downside to all this is that I’ll miss the fly-fishing trip to that river up north with good friends Dan Proft, Steve the Pilot and Ross the Baker. That river is a mystical, magical place, full of steelhead and big brown trout. I would lift a glass of Carpathian Single Malt if I could, I’ve worked so hard to get myself ready. I promised I’d be there with them, but I really can’t do it.  Talk about disappointment, but I just couldn’t handle that cold river right now.

So, I’m going to take a break from column writing for a few days. Betty has rallied the writers. The doctors are still deciding when to do surgery. We’ll see. I’ll write when I can. And as doctors poke and prod the appendix and the pancreas, I’ll think of three things.

There are columns I still must write. Spears I still want to throw. And many miles I still must walk before I’m done.

There’s still so much to do.

This is not the day to curl up and cry. I’m thinking of a column on Mayor “Panic Attacks” Johnson satisfying leftist Marxist fantasy by putting “affordable housing” into Chicago’s downtown business district on LaSalle Street.

Because that’s what a dying city truly needs, affordable housing paid for by whatever taxpayers remain in one of the once-great business districts.

Idiotic. Moutza worthy. Of course. But that’s what happens when leftist Democrats take over.

If you think anyone will pay millions of dollars to live in an affordable housing development, then you are kidding yourselves.

But that’s how Marxist Democrats see the world. It’s all about feelings, and it is fitting that it’s happening in Chicago, home of the Democrat National Convention, so that the nation can see what the leftists hold in store for the great cities:

Ruin, chaos and anarchy.

Or how about one on the trials and tribulations of Drama Queen Tiffany Henyard of Dolton?  Just before the eclipse, you could stand in front of the Dolton town hall, point to the sky and shout in the voice of a soothsayer that the gods are angry with the witch mayor of Dolton. But she’s a Democrat, and this is Illinois, so never mind.

Another on the spine of steel of J.K. Rowling standing up to the British Marxists and the pro trans “community” trying to silence her.

Leftist bigots in London or Chicago demand to be heard but then don’t think you should have free speech.

Perhaps a delicious one on the meltdown of the political left as China Joe Biden drops in the polls in the key swing states. But that is not some clear liquid. It isn’t Jell-O. It’s meaty, like a fat juicy oxtail braised in red wine and garlic, but my time of the oxtails must be delayed until the internal organs stop screaming.

So where are we now? I’ll take this weekend off and see what happens.

I won’t push myself as I did last winter and found myself on the banks of the river Styx. That’s a foul river full of eel. I was given another chance to get out of that river, and now, so I’m going to do what I can, when I can.

Let the doctors and the other fine writers do their thing. I’ll pop in from time to time when I can soon.

One thing you know is true: The circus of the chumbolones might be delayed, but it will continue.

The idiots will still engage in epic battles for the Golden Moutza. And I’ll be (belatedly) reading your excellent nominations this week.

Readers, I thank you. You joined me on this great adventure. I salute you.

Let’s see what happens.

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About the author: John Kass spent decades as a political writer and news columnist in Chicago working at a major metropolitan newspaper. He is co-host of The Chicago Way podcast. And he just loves his “No Chumbolone” hat, because johnkassnews.com is a “No Chumbolone” Zone where you can always get a cup of common sense.