Showing posts with label John Mayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Mayer. Show all posts

Friday, March 05, 2010

Neo-nazi junk rebels against 'clean' Mayer

John Mayer, freshly tired of being an "a**hole," tells anybody who'll listen -- and folks had better, being that they paid, like, a bazillion dollars for the privilege -- that "It's a clean me now, people, clean me."

That well may be.

David Duke's c***, on the other hand, was spotted gettin' down and dirty at an Omaha strip club Wednesday night, a day before his show at the Qwest Center. Josefina Loza's story in this morning's Omaha World-Herald, however, didn't say whether Mayer knew where his neo-Nazi junk was hangin' all night:
Mayer — or someone who looks just like him — kicked it at The 20’s, an exotic dance club in midtown. He performed at the Qwest Center on Thursday.

Terry O’Halloran, longtime owner of Omaha bars — but not The 20’s — tipped me off in an e-mail: “Did you hear Mayer was allegedly at The 20’s last night? Not quite sure what to make of that guy.”

The 20’s dancers typically wear a mixture of bikinis and fantasy lingerie outfits. Guess Mayer — or his doppelgänger — was there to discover many wonderlands — more to tell Playboy.

Several sources at the club who wanted to remain anonymous confirmed that the pop-blues star was there — and was a generous tipper.
BACK IN THE DARK AGES, when my home away from home was a newspaper newsroom, one particular city editor was fond of saying someone had been "thinking with his little head and not his big one." True, that happens all the time.

John Mayer, on the other hand, may be the first person ever to have his little head -- in a fit of pique born of sexual frustration and boredom with the Sackcloth & Ashes '10 World Tour -- declare absolute autonomy from the "clean me" and head off to a titty bar . . . alone.

Wednesday night in Omaha wasn't the first time.

IN FACT, no sooner than Mayer had proclaimed himself the "clean me" at New York's Madison Square Garden a week ago, David Duke's c*** ran screaming into a nightclub and started
talking dirty to all the ladies. At least that's what the Daily News says:
Mayer [The newspaper was confused because David Duke's c*** bears an uncanny resemblance to its former host, Mayer -- R21] spent the weekend partying at NoLita hot spot La Esquina - which is near the 2,500-square-foot SoHo apartment he owns - and acting, well, less-than-gentlemanly.

"He was drinking and saying vulgar things to the girls at the bar," says a spy. "He was hitting on one pretty brunette in particular, but she found him slimy because he was being so over-the-top."

We hear women aren't the only challenge the crooner can't seem to navigate: Friends say that even before the Playboy fiasco, he was having a love-hate relationship with the media.

"After every interview he gave, John would agonize over it and mentally kick himself over everything he said," says an insider. "He would swear it would be the last time, but it never was, and it became a never-ending cycle."
POOR JOHN. He goes to the trouble of apologizing and apologizing -- not to mention proclaiming his new "clean me" and letting 11-year-olds up on stage to play guitar with him for a number -- and look what happens. Done in by adolescent rebellion on the part of David Duke's c***.

As Uncle Jed used to say about Jethro on The Beverly Hillbillies, Mayer is "gonna have to have a looooong talk with that boy."

I don't know about these things, so could someone tell me whether The '20s features an all-white crew of exotic dancers?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

They don't call it 'self-love' for nothing

If you want to see the poster child for the death of us, look no further than John Mayer.

Look no further than this blabbermouthed archetype of the self-absorbed schmuck, devoted to "self-soothing" above all else and incapable of finding a woman half as neato-keen as himself.

John Mayer is how the world will end -- living in its own demented head, drinking single-malt scotch and ending up late for the apocalypse because it was otherwise occupied whacking off to The Playboy Channel.

Really. I'm not kidding here.

IF YOU don't believe me, the sad evidence is in Mayer's Playboy interview. Weep for yourselves, not the supercilious superstar, because this 32-year-old adolescent is far from one of a kind in the America of 2010.

It's a good thing there's words in there, I guess, because I'm sure the nekkid pictures in Hugh Hefner's soft-core mag aren't nearly "hot" enough for the self-lovin' singing sensation:

MAYER: I’m a self-soother. The Internet, DVR, Netflix, Twitter—all these things are moments in time throughout your day when you’re able to soothe yourself. We have an autonomy of comfort and pleasure. By the way, pornography? It’s a new synaptic pathway. You wake up in the morning, open a thumbnail page, and it leads to a Pandora’s box of visuals. There have probably been days when I saw 300 vaginas before I got out of bed.

What’s your point about porn and relationships?

Internet pornography has absolutely changed my generation’s expectations. How could you be constantly synthesizing an orgasm based on dozens of shots? You’re looking for the one photo out of 100 you swear is going to be the one you finish to, and you still don’t finish. Twenty seconds ago you thought that photo was the hottest thing you ever saw, but you throw it back and continue your shot hunt and continue to make yourself late for work. How does that not affect the psychology of having a relationship with somebody? It’s got to.

You seem very fond of pornography.

When I watch porn, if it’s not hot enough, I’ll make up backstories in my mind. My biggest dream is to write pornography.

PLAYBOY: How did you become a self-soother?

I grew up in my own head. As soon as I lose that control, once I have to deal with someone else’s desires, I cut and run. I’m pretty culpable about being hard to live with. I have had a good run of imagining things into reality. I’ve got a huge streak of successes based on my own inventions. If you tell me I’m wrong or that I’m overthinking something, well, overthinking has given me everything in my career. I have a hard time not looking at anxiety disorder as being like an ATM. I can invent things really well. I mean, I have unbelievable orgasms alone. They’re always the best. They always end the way I want them to end. And I have such an ability to make believe, I can almost project something onto my wall, watch it and get off to it: sexually, musically, it doesn’t matter. When I meet somebody, I’m in a situation in which I can’t run it because another person is involved. That means letting someone else talk, not waiting for them to remind you of something interesting you had in mind.

Masturbation for you is as good as sex?

Absolutely, because during sex, I’m just going to run a filmstrip. I’m still masturbating. That’s what you do when you’re 30, 31, 32. This is my problem now: Rather than meet somebody new, I would rather go home and replay the amazing experiences I’ve already had.

You’d rather jerk off to an ex-girlfriend than meet someone new?

MAYER: Yeah. What that explains is that I’m more comfortable in my imagination than I am in actual human discovery. The best days of my life are when I’ve dreamed about a sexual encounter with someone I’ve already been with. When that happens, I cannot lay off myself.

IT SUCKS to be you, ladies. There's no way you're going to compete with Photoshop, an airbrush . . . and John Mayer's right hand. I wonder if he's given it a name -- Jennifer? Jessica?

And speaking of Jennifer. . . .

PLAYBOY: What does the word womanizer mean to you?

Well, wouldn’t a womanizer have dated more than two girls in two years?

You and Aniston got back together and broke up again in 2009. How many women did you sleep with in the eight months after the breakup?

I’m going to say four or five. No more.

That’s a reasonable number.

But even if I said 12, that’s a reasonable number. So is 15. Here’s the thing: I get less ass now than I did when I was in a local band. Because now I don’t like jumping through hoops. It’s been so long since I’ve taken a random girl home. I don’t want to have to submit myself for approval. I don’t want to audition. I’d rather come home and edge my s*** out for 90 minutes. At this point, before I can have sex I need to know somebody. Unless she’s a 14 out of 10.

You have been very up front about your fondness for masturbation.

It’s like a vacation — my brain gets to go free. It’s a walk in the park for my brain. Pull the shades and let your mind go without having to answer for it.

The way you talk about being 32 sounds as though you were too immature for Aniston.

MAYER: No, the actual day-to-day was fantastic. I have to explain this so people don’t say, “Sure, you’re 32, and you want to f*** other chicks.” If you say I’m not adult and stable, it sounds as though I’m someone who’s watching football and playing Xbox. I have this bond with infinite possibility — when I go out to dinner, I bring another shirt, a flashlight, a knife, a hard drive, a camera. It’s not like I wanted to be with somebody else. I want to be with myself, still, and lie in bed only with the infinite unknown. That’s 32, man.
I SUPPOSE you can go to the Playboy site and read the whole thing but, frankly, you should feel like you've been slimed reading just this much of it. And these are the excerpts I figured I could lift and still come away feeling only moderately guilty.

Let's just say there are depths to Mr. Mayer's depravity. And to our own depraved alienation as we bask in the auto-beatific vision of our "infinite unknown."

Alone. Utterly, despairingly alone.

I have witnessed The End. It sounds like a John Mayer song.

No, you're still a douche

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John Mayer is sorry he tried to be "clever" with the media.

He likewise says he's going to "take a break" from projectile-vomiting what passes for his thoughts into reporters' recorders.

That is what we call "totally missing the point." What the oversexed, under-IQed singer really needs is his very own chapter of Narcissists Anonymous,
judging by MSNBC's reporting here.

WELL, THAT and to "take a break" from being a thoroughly contemptible human being:

Despite being dubbed a womanizer in the media for relationships with Hollywood stars such as Simpson, Aniston and Jennifer Love Hewitt, Mayer told Playboy that he was not open to having sex with black women.

When asked if “black women throw themselves at you,” he replied with, “I don’t think I open myself to it. My d--- is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a f-----’ David Duke c---. I’m going to start dating separately from my d---.”

But he also said that black people love him, and tried to sum up what it means to be black: "It's making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that's seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you'll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude's."

He also used the N-word in the revealing interview.

"wow if this stuff is true...John Mayer just lost a whole heap of cool points...and i really likes him too..." commented jnyfer on Twitter.

In the interview for Playboy's March edition, some of which reportedly took place as Mayer downed malt whisky, the singer sought to refute the media image of him as a womanizer and "douchebag."

"I've been trying to prove to people I'm not a douchebag by not dating, by keeping my name out of 'Us Weekly'," he said. The singer also noted that his "biggest dream is to write pornography."

WOW. That Jennifer Aniston and Jessica Simpson saw anything whatsoever in this guy certainly doesn't speak glowing volumes about them.

And that whole "prove to people I'm not a douchebag" thing is sooooooo not working out for young Mr. Mayer, he of neo-Nazi penis fame.