Word reaches this gin-soaked desk that JD Vance, the man who looks like he’s been assembled from spare parts of a bad AI and a Republican focus group, has been spotted in a Swiss resort for what are laughably called ‘Iran talks.’ British intelligence, presumably with nothing better to do, are ‘monitoring’ the situation. Monitoring what, exactly?
The man’s carbon footprint as he nibbles on truffle-infused cheese? The number of times he says ‘folks’ in a sentence? Let’s be real here: Vance in Switzerland is like putting a bulldog in a china shop and telling it to negotiate.
The only thing being negotiated is the bill for the ‘artisanal’ water. Meanwhile, the intelligence community is no doubt glued to their screens, watching this farce unfold, their tea going cold as they try to decipher whether his comments about ‘radical Islamic terrorism’ are code for ‘I don’t like the current menu.’ The sheer theatre of it all.
A man who wrote a book about the white working class is now cavorting with the global elite, pretending to solve problems he couldn’t find on a map. And we’re meant to take this seriously. I say let him have his fondue.
The world will still be on fire when he comes down from his alpine high, but at least he’ll have a story to tell at the next think tank dinner. The horror, the horror... of such monumental irrelevance.
