In a world increasingly resembling a discarded script from a mid-tier dystopian sitcom, we find ourselves once again forced to witness the intellectual equivalent of two hairless apes fighting over a shiny rock. This time, the rock is Greenland—a vast, icy expanse that most people couldn't find on a map if their lives depended on it—and the hairless apes are the collective leadership of the European Union and the perpetually aggrieved resident of the White House. The news, for those who still possess the masochistic urge to follow it, involves a top EU official expressing 'concerns' about trustworthiness because the American President has threatened tariffs over a refusal to sell an entire country. Let that sink in for a moment, if your brain hasn't already retreated into a self-protective coma. We are discussing the sale of a sovereign landmass in the twenty-first century as if it were a foreclosed condo in Boca Raton.

The EU official, speaking with the kind of performative gravity usually reserved for the passing of a minor monarch or the discovery of a slightly-too-large grape, called the tariff threat a 'mistake' between 'long-standing allies.' It is truly adorable, in a pathetic sort of way, to watch the Brussels bureaucracy cling to the term 'allies.' An ally, in the modern geopolitical lexicon, is simply a nation you haven't found a profitable reason to betray yet. The EU operates on the delusion that international relations are governed by a gentleman’s agreement, signed in fountain pen on vellum, while they are actually governed by the same primal instincts that drive a territorial dispute between alley cats. They are shocked—shocked!—that a man who built a career on stiffing contractors and branding everything from steaks to 'universities' would view a trade agreement as anything other than a weapon to be wielded in a fit of pique. It is the height of bureaucratic arrogance to expect a shark to play chess when the shark has already told you it only understands the language of blood.

On the other side of this Atlantic circus, we have the American approach: the geopolitical equivalent of a toddler holding a hand grenade and demanding a cookie. The logic is as flawless as it is terrifying: 'I want your ice. You won’t give me your ice. Therefore, I will tax your cars and your handbags until the cost of existence becomes a burden you can no longer bear.' It is the ultimate expression of the transactional brain—a mind so hollowed out by the pursuit of 'deals' that it can no longer distinguish between a commercial real estate transaction and the sovereignty of a nation. The tariff is not a policy; it is a temper tantrum in fiscal form. It assumes that everything has a price, and if the price isn't being met, the solution is simply to burn the shop down. It is the diplomacy of the schoolyard bully, refined by decades of reality television and a complete lack of historical literacy.

But let’s not pretend the EU is the innocent victim here. Their 'trustworthiness' concerns are a masterclass in hypocrisy. This is a bloc that regulates the curvature of bananas while turning a blind eye to the various authoritarian creepings within its own borders whenever it suits the bottom line. They speak of 'values' and 'stability' as if those words weren't just decorative lace on the iron fist of neoliberalism. They are annoyed not because a moral line has been crossed, but because their predictable, boring world of slow-moving bureaucracy has been interrupted by someone who doesn't play by the rules of the country club. They are the manager of a failing department store complaining that the local arsonist isn't following the fire safety signs. Their indignation is as sterile as their office buildings.

The tragedy, of course, isn't that Greenland isn't for sale—it’s that anyone thinks the 'sale' would change anything for the people actually living there. Whether they are managed by the Danish crown, the EU's regulatory labyrinth, or the American strip-mall machine, the result is the same: they are pawns in a game played by people who see the world as a spreadsheet. The mineral wealth under that melting ice is already being circled by vultures of every nationality. The tariffs are just the opening salvos in a larger war for the leftovers of a dying planet. Both sides are posturing for a future that neither of them is capable of managing.

In the end, we are left with a choice between two equally repellent brands of stupidity. On one hand, we have the performative dignity of the European elite, who believe that if they just use enough multi-syllabic words and hold enough summits, the reality of power will somehow bend to their will. On the other, the crude, thuggish mercantilism of an administration that treats the global economy like a protection racket. Trust was never on the table. Trust died a long time ago, probably in a windowless room in a basement in Geneva or a boardroom in Manhattan. To hear an EU official mourn its passing is like hearing a vulture complain about the lack of heartbeat in its lunch. It is a farce, a charade, and a testament to the fact that we are all being led by the least capable among us toward an inevitable, icy nothingness. Happy trading.