First things first: Donald Trump's selection of Ohio Senator J.D. Vance as his vice presidential candidate on Monday evening is insignificant. The office itself is insignificant by its nature and doubly so to Trump himself, who historically extends the sort of care to the people that make themselves subservient to him that most people reserve for single-use plastics. Vance himself, who is a greasily servile striver even by the standards of his diseased cohort of sociopathic Yalies, is insignificant as well. He's a suck-up, mostly, a dress shirt taken straight out of the packaging and stuffed to bursting with familiar antique bigotries and exhausting contemporary Reaction Industry cynicisms; he is readily identifiable as an adult convert to Catholicism at 100 paces.
No real thought went into the selection, although it feels redundant to point that out given the parties involved. Trump has long seemed unsure of what a vice president might be for—the most obvious answer would never occur to him; whatever might happen to the world after he leaves it is everyone else's problem—and on that specific issue you almost have to hand it to him. To the extent that Trump's personal opinion of Vance is known at all, it is that he thinks he is a "handsome son of a bitch." That Vance is good at sucking up to Trump is not really surprising, given that he has built his career around doing that. If it is probably a challenge to burp up appreciative laughter and meaningful so-true-sir's at Trump's material—musty stand-up gags about Diet Coke and doomy skeins on The Invading Brown Hordes, delivered in the same register and whatever order strikes him—it is also one that Vance has been practicing for his whole life.
