Sick to My Stomach - The American Spectator | USA News and Politics
Sick to My Stomach


Wow. What a day I had yesterday. Just awful stomach ache. Could it have been from corned beef? Could it have been from watching Maxine Waters on TV? Ms. Waters and I go back to the school busing struggle of 1977-78. I was against it along with great civic leaders like Bobbi Fiedler and Roberta Weintraub — true citizen heroines.

Maxine Waters and the Bolshevik federal courts were for it. The results were as predicted. The Los Angeles Unified School District was basically killed. Did it do the black and brown kids any good? Not as far as I can tell. It’s the most extreme form of racism to believe that if you put a black kid next to a white kid, the magic from the white kid will somehow rub off on the black kid. It’s not going to happen and it didn’t happen. Now, one of the best school districts in the country is one of the worst. Thank you, Maxine Waters.

These days, she’s spewing her hatred into the national blood stream inciting hatred against the Trump family. Straight transfusion: Maxine Waters’ angry blood doing its hateful duty.

Anyway, I awakened this morning completely drained and exhausted from my stomach pains. But I did awake and that’s something.

Now, I want to say what’s important. Yes, I did have a stomach ache yesterday. Yes, I did need to use the bathroom over and over. But also yes, I had a bathroom to use. I didn’t have to squat into a bucket. I didn’t have to squat in front of SS guards while I was working outside in freezing temperatures. I had a warm, cheerful bathroom. How many people in the 20th century got to say that? I didn’t have to fight on Okinawa and get malaria and dysentery and die in a pool of excrement. I didn’t have to die from gangrene in a field hospital near Monte Cassino, where they had run out of painkillers and I had watched my pals’ arms getting sawed off.

I got to live and be sick in comfort thanks to the men and women of the armed forces of this country and also thanks to the Red Army and also thanks, above all, thanks on bended knee, to the RAF and to Winston Churchill, the greatest man of all time. Every time I pour a glass of clean water. Every time I eat a corned beef sandwich, every time I start my car and turn on the AC, I am thankful.

I am not the smartest person in the world. That would be Wlady or Bob. I am not the best looking. That would be my wife. I am not the bravest. That would be my Uncle Bob Denman, hero of Cho-Sin and my father in law, Dale Denman, Jr., hero of Vietnam and of Germany, and my grandfather, David Stein, who fought on a donkey in the Philippines.

But I am the most grateful. And while I am about it, even though I am a loser, whiner, SOB, I will send more money to, which helps the families of those who died in the service of the nation.

What can I possibly say but thank you to those who died for me to be able to live and even to be sick in comfort. What can I cry but, “Thank you, God, for letting me be in America right now. Thank you and God bless you to every man who served and who fought and to their families who suffered unimaginable loss.”

Maxine Waters, get washed in the blood of the Lamb and instead of fighting, be grateful for America.


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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