The Sons of Liberty were still in a celebratory mood days after passing the most restrictive abortion bill ever. “Yee-ha!” yelled one. “We got ’em right where we want ’em–barefoot, pregnant and unequal!”

Chairman Pompous gaveled the caucus to order. “The chair reluctantly recognizes Sen. Rino.” (Grumbling.)

“Gentlemen,” Rino said, “I’m all for forcing our unprovable religious convictions onto others to make America great again, but if we invade women’s personal privacy…”

“Whoa!” Pompous interrupted, “You’re confusing personal privacy with personal responsibility. Women need to be responsible for our actions!”

“But, then don’t we have a responsibility to guarantee housing, health care and college for these kids?”

The gavel thudded. “That’ll just create more liberals! How can we fund tax cuts for the rich if the government’s paying child support? Babies should pull themselves up by their bootstraps!”

“But we look like hypocrites,” Rino argued. “We can’t pretend to care about babies and then not care. After all, we take care of old people. Sorta.”

“This is no time for compassionate conservationism!” Pompous thundered. “I only wish that bill was even more restrictive! I love making libtards squirm.”

“There’s a way, Mr. Chairman!” shouted a man in a lab coat, waving from the back. “May I introduce myself? I’m Professor Harden from the Institute of Groinology…”

“I object!” someone yelled. “We can’t bring science into this!”

“Overruled! Let’s hear him out.”

“I’ve drafted foolproof legislation,” Harden continued, “but it requires absolute government control over genitalia.” (Cheers. A standing ovation.)

“Perfect!” Pompous exclaimed. “Let’s vote!”

“But, Mr. Chairman,” Rino argued. “Shouldn’t we hear the details, first?”

“And let facts get in the way of reason? All in favor, say aye!” (A resounding aye.) “Opposed?” Rino remained silent.

“We have the technology,” Harden said, holding something up. “It’s the Stiffler 3000 microchip… We’ll implant one in every penis.” (Dead silence.) “It’s activated by an erection, which acts as an antennae, sending out a G5 signal to the proper authorities.” (Someone faints.) “We’ve tested it on rabbits — it’s guaranteed for 100,000 felonies.”

“But what if I don’t want that doohickey in my peter as a matter of principle?” a senator asked.

“You have choices,” Harden responded. “You could opt for a mandatory vasectomy. Or castration. It’s a free country.”

“Maybe we should rethink this,” Pompous said.

Rino reminded him that the votes had been cast.

Fast-forward several years to a pastoral rural landscape. Suddenly, black helicopters appear. SWAT teams rappel to earth. A shaken Pompous peers out the bedroom window. His mistress cowers.

“Who knew the cell service was this good,” he moans. “Damn you, Verizon!”

A Groin Control officer with a bullhorn barks, “Come out with your hands and pants up, and your penis down!”

Another officer nudges him. “There’s a problem, Maj. Tom. Check the readout. Viagra. We could be here awhile.”

After a fair inquisition, a paddy-wagon arrives at a desert prison. Pompous, handcuffed, wearing an orange jumpsuit, is prodded by a female guard past wire cages packed with thousands of teenage boys doing hard time. “Lock him up!” they chant.

“I can’t believe this sort of thing is possible in America,” Pompous groans.

“I hear you,” the guard says. The cell door clanks shut.

Tony Bender writes an exclusive weekly column for Forum News Service.