When you’re the guy trying to make Diet Mt. Dew the official drink of “Heritage, Not Hate”, you give off the kind of energy that makes people go, “Yeah, he might knows a couch or two. Biblically.”

It’s easy to make fun of JD Vance.

But he’s just like the rest of us: having to juggle time with our kids while taking calls from a guy we’re worried might be “America’s Hitler”.

It’s hard to be a good dad when you’ve got to make time for stalking presidential candidates on the tarmac and taking on Taylor Swift fans, all while talking yourself out of ducking into a Rooms-To-Go for just one quick peek at that Montecito.

But I’m worried about JD.

Maybe the cognitive decline isn’t just Trump’s.

All that standing for anything so long as it means votes has taken its toll: in the last eight years, Vance has forgotten what the word “never” means.

Doesn’t help that somewhere fellow critic-turned-sycophant Niki Haley is deciding whether Trump likes that she’s Indian now, and if that’s going to be her in to take Vance’s place as “guy Trump would be OK having a crowd murder” on the 2024 ticket.

He’s got 99 problems, but a chin ain’t one.

Like I said, easy to mock.

Putting down is easy, and under Trump, it’s become the only call in the GOP playbook.

Don’t like what someone has to say about you?

They’re dumb.

Can’t figure out a policy position?

Come up with nicknames.

Questions too hard?

You’re a nasty person.

Harder to do?

Build someone up.

Find common ground.

Come together to map a way forward.

Running for president, or just running a load of laundry, we’re all on the same blue marble hurtling through the void.

Maybe if we spent less time trying to kick each other, we’d find the time to hold each other up.

Even if you do look like a sentient Don Jr. piñata.