Do I Feel Sick - The American Spectator | USA News and Politics
Do I Feel Sick
by

Ha! I bet you wonder why you haven’t heard from me for a while. It’s because I have been sick.

I’m sick of athletes who are paid millions of dollars per month to run up and down a wooden court and throw a ball blasting, slandering, sliming police officers who get paid in a year what the athletes get paid for a few minutes. The athletes are superbly well trained and skillful and their performances sell a lot or cars and soap. And beer.

But the athletes who get paid tens of millions of dollars a year don’t leave their kids behind with their wives going off into a combat zone the way the police do. The athletes are wildly famous but they don’t put their lives on the line the way the police do every time they pull over a speeder or approach a man who refuses to show his hands.

That’s it. That’s what I’m sick with: the viral insanity of these men who live in gigantic mansions libeling the police officers who risk their lives to patrol the black community based on incidents in which it’s already been well established that the officers acted reasonably and lawfully.

I have been sick, still am sick, at the idea that the thin blue line who stand between decent people and murderers and rapists and thugs gets slandered by the Beautiful People in sports and Hollywood and politics and the media while the slanderers eat their caviar and ride in their Bentleys and pretend to be brave fighters for social justice.

I have news for you, gentlemen. There is only one group consistently offering up their lives for social justice and decency — and they are called the POLICE.

I have been sick to death that when our President, Mr. Obama, spoke at a memorial for five police officers murdered by a black psychopathic racist, the President of all of the people spent far more time trying to justify the murders than to eulogize the slain.

Mr. Obama kept insisting it was all about racism. And Mr. Obama was right: It was all about the racism of a creature sick with evil who was jacked out of his mind by miscreants who simply make up “facts” of a white racist assault on black America. I am sick that these people, who go by names like Black Lives Matter and the New Black Panthers, completely ignore the truths about how so many young blacks die at each other’s hands and how few die from police bullets even once a confrontation has begun. I am sick that the prestige media lets these liars get away with it.

I am sick that a movement that was once based with dignity on allowing grown men and women to be able to vote has devolved into a movement to allow drunken sailors to urinate in a bathroom next to my five-year-old granddaughter — and the President of the United States is so foolish that he actually believes this is a meaningful cause.

I am down with a fever that the President ignores the murder with knives of Israeli children by Arab terrorists but calls the leader of the only democracy in the Middle East a ‘chickens–t’ — especially when that leader, Benjamin Netanyahu, is the bravest head of government of any nation in the last hundred years, with more combat heroism than Mr. Obama could even read about.

The world has gone crazy. Just plain crazy. We have a mass murderer killing the innocent in Orlando, calling 9-1-1 to say he’s acting as an agent of the Islamic State — and the President says we don’t know his motives. We have the racist police killer in Dallas killing the police who protect the blacks at will and the next day the streets are choked with college students and bums attacking the police. And no one calls this insane. I will. It’s insane.

All right. No, it’s not all right. We have a political party whose leaders and cadres literally scream with frenzied delight at the thought of mothers killing their own children — while at the same time piously denouncing the manufacturers of guns. The toll from semi-automatic rifles is about one hundredth of one percent the toll from abortions. And this is something for women to scream about with ecstasy.

God help us.

And meanwhile, up here in North Idaho, the skies are blue. The clouds are fleecy white. The water tonight when I went to dinner over in Hope was like a mill pond. No craziness here. Just wooden ships on the water, very free, as the song goes. But once you leave this enchanted kingdom, it’s the jungle damned quick. And I start to feel sick. But then I am not terribly important. Al Sharpton, now he’s important. Mr. Obama, he’s important. God help us.

Ben Stein
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Ben Stein is a writer, actor, economist, and lawyer living in Beverly Hills and Malibu. He writes “Ben Stein’s Diary” for every issue of The American Spectator.
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