Excessive sweating John Mayer is both breaking the normal boundaries of a douche bag and is also vintage douche bag. If making crappy, retarded music could make you rich, would you do it? John Mayer answers that question everyday with a resounding “yes.”

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.

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