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The news that Donald Trump received a medical deferment exempting him from the Vietnam War draft is causing quite a problem for his campaign.

The coveted 1-Y selective service deferment was for heel spurs—the news of which caused a whole lot of eyes to simultaneously roll.

Not to ape the rhetoric of Don Trump, but I hear people say that his father, Fred Trump, used his wealth and status to get his son that 1-Y. I heard that the doctor was paid off to write the letter. I heard the director of the draft board owed Fred a favor. And I heard that every morning for breakfast Donald Trump feeds on the toes of little Mexican babies—a delicacy where he comes from.

Of course, it's not me saying these things. What I will say however is this: Even if it's true that Trump lied about having bone spurs, and/or abused his rich kid privilege, and/or is a straight up coward who did everything he could to avoid serving his country—it doesn't mean he's not qualified to be president.

First of all, I don't believe avoiding war is necessarily an act of cowardice. It's more like an act of sanity akin to not drinking bleach, not poking grizzly bears and not picking up hitchhikers with severed limbs protruding from the tops of their bloody backpacks.

I mean, this ain't a one-blade rumble between the Jets and the Sharks we're talking about. We're talking about The Second Indochina War—an enormous, churning, smoking meat grinder in the middle of an unforgiving jungle on the other end of the globe. We're talking about having to slog for days through leech-infested marshes, the skin peeling away from your foot bones while you search for more Viet Cong to ambush you. Forget the mosquitos and the gnats, it was the flying fragments of your buddy's brain you had to mind, and your own of course, or that of some little boy you had to cap because it wasn't clear if he was an innocent child looking for his doggie or a suicide assassin with a shitstorm in his tunic.

I'm sorry, but if I was of the draft age at that time, you're damn straight I would have developed heel spurs. My heel spurs would be the greatest spurs ever! My spurs would beat the crap out of all the other spu..., "um, what's that Doc? Bone spurs ain't enough to get a deferment? Well then maybe a case of sudden onset hysterical blindness will do the trick. Because my sudden onset hysterical blindness will make everyone else's sudden-onset hysterical blindness seem more like a mild nearsightedness that developed gradually and calmly.

"Still not enough? Oh well, Doc. Can't blame a guy for trying. I guess I'll be on my way. I'll just get up out of this chair and—uh oh. My legs won't move! My legs! My legs! Why can't I move my legs!?"

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, But Ed—Donald Trump used his privilege to avoid serving his country while the poor, middle class and minorities received no such favor.

First of all, fuck "serving my country." If My Country wants to be "serviced" by forcing me into a bloody jungle debacle while it sits in front of the TV to watch people shoot at me, My Country can eat a hot bowl of twat worms.

Secondly, so what? The fact that Trump used his wealth to get out of the war is the fault of the system, not Trump. Think about it. If you were of the draft age in 1969, and your family's status provided an out, wouldn't you take it?

"Hey son, quick question before my lunch with Nixon today. Would you rather attend college where you can drink beer, play sports and bang chicks, or would you prefer to go to Vietnam and take a mortar shell in the face?"

In 1973, shortly after the Vietnam War ended, selective service was terminated. But in the late '70s, the Cold War began ramping up again. It was called The Second Cold War and, according to Wikipedia, it was "a period of intensive reawakening of [U.S. and Soviet] tensions..."

And boy was it intense! We were on the brink of nuclear war and most everyone was terrified. The only reason I got any sleep in those days was knowing that if the Okroshka ever hit the poklonnik, at least I wouldn't be drafted. But on July 2, 1980, exactly two months after my 18th birthday, Carter invoked registration to the goddamn draft.

I remember walking down to the post office to register. It was a beautiful, sunny day, but to me it seemed drab and heavy, as if I was descending into my own tomb.

"There is no way I won't get shot on the first day!" I thought as I slowly walked toward what I thought was the beginning of the end of my life. Fortunately the Cold War never thawed. But if I had been drafted, hell yeah, I would have tried to weasel out of it. I guess that makes me a coward like Trump. Fine. I'd rather a coward for president than some gung-ho, war hero type. I want a President that is terrified enough by war to give a wide berth. Indeed, there are a hundred reasons why I will never vote for Donald Trump, but the fact that he tried like allfuck to get out of Vietnam is one reason that I would.

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