Draft my daughters, please 

When a man has three consecutive daughters, people inevitably ask if he intends to “keep going for a boy.” I always handle these questions with the requisite courtesy laugh before speaking honestly: I’m not going for anything beyond what is assigned me by the Most High, who is both funny and just. After six in a row, people start believing you. They will return your courtesy laugh and pause before moving on to other small talk. The bomb won’t go off until they hit the pillow: “Holy moly, what did McMorris do?”  

After Friday, I will amend my answer with a hearty “Yes. God is both funny and just.” For nothing would be funnier than if he sent me a son. A son with six older sisters, but the only member of the family that is exempt from the war-time draft owing to his 4-A or 4-G status as “sole surviving son.” His sisters would be too busy serving out their vocations as equality fodder to laugh, but I know they’d appreciate the joke. 

The hawks who call for a female draft share two things in common: they know the draft will not affect them personally, and they do not count on me murdering them when my daughter receives the summons. 

For decades, liberals have proposed forcing women into selective service to prevent the invocation of a draft. They surely never imagined hawkish conservatives would want in on the movement, nor did they take into account that someday Boeing would use Elmer’s glue to secure the doors on commercial flights. The only way to save the stock is defense contracts; there’s no better way to secure defense contracts these days than Diversity, Equality and Inclusion. Neocons who attack DEI when it comes to their sons getting into Yale will happily send your daughter into combat, so Boeing doesn’t have to split its stock. The children they do have will no doubt qualify for 1-S after a phone call or two; or perhaps there will be an orphan exemption, since I have murdered their parents and all. 

The same people who want to draft your daughters — while simultaneously blocking amendments that would force female grunts to meet the same standards as males — will emerge as architects of the Chinese ground invasion. My daughters will soon be dead in combat (my sole surviving son will be barnstorming the country selling war bonds as a paid Boeing spokesman). The same country that used the Fighting Sullivans to drop the bomb will no doubt use Slouching McMorrises to fail to conquer the Chinese commies, which for whatever inegalitarian reason didn’t send women to the front line. 

There are a bunch of statistics at my fingertips at this moment, pulled from IG reports and military dossiers, college campus surveys and the like. They all say the same thing your lecherous great uncle would tell you when faced with “should women serve in combat?”  

America today knows the answer is wrong and, unless Senator Mike Lee and Representative Chip Roy succeed, will proceed anyway. My hypothetical son would illustrate God’s humor. As for His justice: that is for your real-life daughters to bear.