"I am invincible," John Mayer sings during the bridge of his first hit single, "No Such Thing." Few other quotes capture the essence of this arrogant, hypocritical, sex-crazed sellout.
For those of us that understand a thing or two about musicianship, it is easy to see that John Mayer is an excellent guitarist. Listening to his cover of Stevie Ray Vaughn's "Lenny" or Jimi Hendrix's "Wind Cries Mary" sends chills down my spine. Those chills turn to shivers of fear, however, when I see that my iTunes playlist is queuing up "Your Body is a Wonderland" as the next track.
"Your Body is a Wonderland" joins any Phil Collins song to qualify as the only two creative works for which the author deserves capital punishment. Creators of John Mayer fan sites all over the world recognize the release of "Your Body is a Wonderland" as the exact second that he traded his soul to Satan for the swaggering mass of teenybopper college girls that he calls his fans.
The lyrics to the song, which describe a possibly fictional erotic encounter with some sort of life form, reflect the idealized dream-world in which he exists. If John-o were a real man, he would change the lyrics so that they more accurately reflected the harsh realities facing your typical college-aged male. Something like this might be more appropriate (sung to the tune of "Your Body is a Wonderland"):
PRECHORUS:
"If you want cake, we'll bake it,
Drinkin' your supersized, McShake,
Take all your big pants, and buy bigger ones,
Please don't roll on top of me ..."
CHORUS (everyone sing along now!)
"Your body is a bulbous mass,
Your body is a bulbous mass, yeah."
John Mayer's music accurately describes his intentions to use his musical ability solely to rake in cash and girls with no self-respect. Unfortunately, because of Carson Daly and other maggots of Satan, today's pop culture allows him to do this. How can the man that writes every other song about imaginary sexual adventures with women be mentally stable?
After listening to this line from the vomit-inducing track, "Love Song for No One," I almost alerted the authorities: "I could have met you in a sandbox."
John Mayer is now the only 27-year-old I know of that goes hunting for ass in sandboxes. Parents be warned - make sure that your local sandbox is outfitted with the John Mayer alarm system. This clever device encloses a singular TRL fan inside of a suspended cage. The alarm - a series of high-pitched, uncontrollable screams emitted from the face-area of the TRL fan - will sound any time Mr. Mayer approaches within a two-mile radius of your local sandbox.
One song on the triple-platinum "Room for Squares" album that I actually looked forward to hearing was "My Stupid Mouth." Finally, it seemed, our friend John had discovered from what orifice his constant stream of BS was pouring out of. I nearly crapped my pants when I heard the line, "I'm never speaking up again, starting now."
There were exactly six seconds of pure ecstasy. John had stopped singing, his band quieted down, birds landed on my shoulders, and a squirrel climbed on a nearby tree stump, staring bright-eyed and bushy-tailed into a ray of sunshine and happiness that pierced the clouds. Mr. Tumnus hopped gleefully by, playing the bamboo flute. Humans playing Tecmo Super Bowl were delighted to find that every player had transformed into Bo Jackson.
Then something horrible happened. The words "one more thing ..." began to echo so loudly throughout the kingdom that the birds spontaneously combusted and plummeted to their fiery deaths. The friendly squirrel fell into a deep chasm and was torn apart by the ant-lion that inhabited the depths below. The offensive players that had transformed into Bo Jackson were retransformed into Mr. Tumnus, whose goat legs could not outrun any of the defenders. Apparently John Mayer had lied.
The last song that I listened to was the mistake, "83," also featured on "Room for Squares." To my surprise, the beat of this song was the exact tempo that I was punching my face to at the time! I could spend hours describing the pain that I endured listening to "83," but one line in particular caught my attention: "I want to be Superman."
Yes John, we know. Just replace the big S on your spandex suit with a big $ and things start to make more sense.
Jeff Volinski is a senior majoring in mechanical engineering.
