The tragedy of TrumPutin's foreign policy is that there is none. And when he or his minions attempt to adopt a policy all they do is illustrate how stupid they are.
Pompeo the idolator tries so ardently to curry favor with TrumPutin that he becomes the Clown Prince, mouthing the fables that his boss believes and smirking his way across the Sunday news shows. He is always alert to what TrumPutin thinks he knows and believes at the moment, and tries to apply a coherency to the changing policies of his leader.
At the moment, Pompeo and TrumPutin are eager to assuage the ego of the Crown Prince and ensure the supply of cheap oil, and so they applaud the Saudi claims that Iran bombed their oil fields. They require no evidence, not even the fabrication that Crown Prince's military hacks invent.
The evidence that Saudi Arabia provides is ironclad, according to Pompeo, and because it is ironclad to Pompeo, it saves TrumPutin from having to think about it. He accepts Pompeo's word for it, and Pompeo accepts the Crown Prince's lackeys' word for it.
Both Pompeo and TrumPutin have had practice in taking the Crown Prince's words as truth, as they did when they accepted the solemn vows that the Crown Prince had no involvement in Jamal Khashoggi's death.
The evidence the Crown Prince has shared on the death of Khashoggi is as unbelievable as what he has provided regarding the bombing of his oil fields. He is not to be believed on either issue. That is not enough to discredit him in the eyes of TrumPutin and his Clown Prince.
The Crown Prince and his servants are lying, and that TrumPutin and his Clown Prince are willing to accept the lies in their effort to produce a coherent or defensible foreign policy. One that is centered on TrumPutin's hotels and oil, in that order.
TrumPutin claims it's the lightbulb that makes him look orange. And that it's bad, because apparently he thinks he's not really an orange guy.
So that's good to know, and since he's figured out what makes him look orange, now the question is, does he know what it is that makes him sound stupid?
Is it the teleprompter that malfunctions and forces him to stumble over prepared remarks? Do the big words run together so that he sounds like one of his sons trying to fathom a third-grade reader?
What makes him look so fat and wobbly as he waddles up to the lectern? Who has coached him to imitate the Mussolini look? The jaw stuck out, a look of superiority layered with insecurities so pronounced that only a Marine helicopter or fawning senators can make him feel like a warrior not plagued with conveniently materializing bone spurs that prevent him from the honor of going to war in far-away countries?
A nation awaits your next lie, your Orange-ness.
Cartoons by Troy Barbados