With Donald Trump in Asia plugging his golf resort and telling his hosts “I never knew we had so many countries,” the leaderless United States has had a week to try out President Mike Pence. Make that Pastor Pence.

It’s not a problem that Pence is a sycophant in chief, perhaps the greatest bootlicker to take up residence at the Naval Observatory. His little stunt, on Trump’s orders, of flying halfway across the country to walk out on people exercising their First Amendment rights at a football game cost taxpayers a pile. So. Veeps are expected to be slavish.

Nor am I overly troubled that Pence reportedly calls his wife Mother or refuses to dine with a woman alone who is not Mom. (Angela Merkel, bring your chaperone.) Ronald Reagan called his wife Mommy.

The big problem with Pence is the vast empty space between his ears and the articulation of thoughts formed in that space. His biblical bromides make Ned Flanders of “The Simpsons” sound like Voltaire. And because his mind is closed to rational thought outside his theocratic construct, everything he says comes out like platitudinous mush.