One degree away from Ed Hardy, John Mayer Excessive Perspiration

On dating as a celebrity (vintage sweaty douche bag):

“I should be having sex with more girls. It’s crazy to me that in my head, that being 32 and dating women is going to get me in trouble. I can’t even explain to you how terrible that feels, that I equate dating a woman with punishment, shame, guilt, disappointment, reproach, reprimand, persecution. It’s a nightmare.”

On going out with african american women:

“My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.”

Can you believe this guy?  Really?  Only a guy who makes music for insecure teenage girls could be so  unbelievably retarded.

On people and eliticism in general (expanding the boundaries of being a douche bag):

“Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s ok though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation… so when I meet someone who’s an 8-color type… I’m like, ‘hey girl, magenta!’ and she’s like, ‘oh, you mean purple!’ and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, ‘no – I want magenta!’”

Talking about Pakistani Comedian Kumail Nanjiani:

“He looked like a brown guy but sounded like a white guy.”

On working up a sweat and getting himself off:

“I don’t jerk off because I’m horny. I’m sort of half-chick. It’s like District 9. I can fire alien weapons. I can insert a tampon. No, I do it because I want to take a brain bath. It’s like a hot whirlpool for my brain, in a brain space that is 100 percent agreeable with itself.”

Talking about Obama winning The Nobel Peace Prize:

“What’s he going to do, send it back? It’s like I’m getting a wrongful bulge in my pants and everyone’s thinking I’ve got a nine-inch cock. I’m not going to argue with them, I’m going to let them think I have a nine-inch cock.”

Philosophizing about falling in love:

“Like, you need to have them be able to go toe-to-toe with you intellectually. But don’t they also have to have a vagina you could pitch a tent on and just camp out on for, like, a weekend? Doesn’t that have to be there, too? The Joshua Tree of vaginas? …I’ll be happy when I close out this life-partner thing. Think of how much mental capacity I’m using to meet the right person so I can stop giving a fuck about it.”

What he said to Perez Hilton:

“I will fuck you in the mouth to shut you up. You are not wilder than me.”

On having feelings:

“Sometimes I get so bold and I’m so confident about what I’m doing that I actually try to be more of a dork because it’s a really liberating feeling to experience what it’s like to not care.”

What really bugs us about perspiration tits John Mayer is the pretension.  It’s like he’s torturing a writing staff of midgets in order to sound smart and quirky, when he’s just your average lame white guy with connections who can play the guitar.  We just don’t know how you don’t collapse in on yourself from your immense sucking, you vortex of bland nothingness.

For more John Mayer sweating, click below:

John Mayer Sweats Like a Man Who’s Life Means Something

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“Oh, that’s right, I’m really sweaty John Mayer, here I am strolling, checking out the chicks, dude, I bet she’s dumb and insecure enough to like my stuff – ah, wounded prey…”

Sweaty John Mayer you know, is like really deep, just like his ex-girlfriends, Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Love Hewitt. John Mayer is about as deep as a 2 AM bar conversation between two people on ecstacy and bad cocaine. Why do we hate? We’re really not haters, this is really the best we have to say about the guy. Really, how many bad love songs does the world need? Okay, okay, and he also excessively sweats like Bigfoot at a gun range. Check out these amazing lyrics:

Boys, you can break
You’ll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A woman’s good, good heart

On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world

Jesus H Christ, why don’t you just cut your sweaty nads off and go back in time and sing for the church? How do you look at yourself in the mirror John Mayer? But hey, you’re rich, rock on dude.

Embarrassingly sweaty John Mayer is thinking below, “Yeah, dudes, like all 3 of us are like famous and like, we’re all wearing white shirts, isn’t it great? I should write a song about it.” We agree John, we agree, it can’t be any worse than any of your other songs.

John Mayer just can’t keep his excessive sweating or his feelings inside…

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