Things I don’t like, Item 2: John Mayer

It’s the whole thing: playing a handful of chords; that smarmy shit-eating-grin; white guy with a loose Afro; the open pandering to women about how sensitive he is.

In college, we had a couple of guys like that for resident advisers (RA’s) on our hallway. Mayer’s one of those fixtures of school that’s been there for seven years as he’s working on a two-years Masters program in something everyone knows he’ll never use. Guys like that stick around because there’s always some middle-aged, female head of Res-Life who’s delusional enough to think a 28-year-old-townie-to-be wants to screw her.

Ladies, here’s a hint: if he’s in grad school, significantly behind on handing in his thesis, in a band AND you can go to every bar near campus and everyone knows him, strap on a stainless steel diaphragm and frisk him for roofies.

For graduating high school seniors, this is the way it works…

Week 1:
When you’re a guy, you hand in your emergency contacts list and see Mayer with some fresh-faced 17-year-old girl sitting on the floor. As he puts down the guitar he’s tuning to reach for your paperwork, he says something like, “Let’s hang out sometime”, with a smile that qualifies, “but not when I’m tagging jailbait here”.

Week 2:
As you enter the bathroom to take your last piss before you head for the campus bus, you catch her sneaking out of the community bathroom and heading back to Mayer’s room.

Week 3:
She’s such a fixture, she’s on the hall softball team.

Week 4:
She’s all gussied up on a Friday night and they’re “going some place special”.

Week 5:
She’s not around.

Week 6:
She’s not around.

Week 7:
You and everyone else on the hall are awoken at 3 in the morning as she bangs on his door. You don’t know what the issues are, but with her drunken screaming of the words “take advantage”, “asshole” and “raping bastard”, you probably have a pretty good idea.

Week 8:
She transfers to a school closer to her hometown.

For real: Isn’t that “Daughters” song something that a date rapist who’d prey on young women would sing to tempt freshman coeds into his room?

Things I don’t like, Item 1: Pre-adolescent girls who are overly obsessed with horses.

Nobody likes large animals that much, that early in life. Parents, here’s a hint: someone’s in a screwing mood.

Who hasn’t been stuck by having to listen to a middle-schooler being over-enthused about a subject matter? Hearing some little girl clumsily veiling her budding curiosity of her body under the auspices of wanting a pony makes for an awkward moment for everyone within earshot and responsibility.

That staccato, breathy appeal is the sound of an ill-constructed lie, formed by one who doesn’t realize that asking your folks for a horse in front of other relatives, friends of the family and guests in the hopes of mounting group approval tells everyone you’re in the market for The Pill. It’s like verbally humping someone’s leg.

No – It ain’t about having responsibility. If your daughter wants to take care of something that large, stupid, and smells like shit and piss, have her spend her summers volunteering in an old-folks-home in the South one summer. Making her sponge-bathe some 300-pound redneck women who’ve been diabetic since 25 ought to be a sufficient bluff-call.

Besides, I’ve got to believe that there are more efficient ways to break your hymen at 12 that do not include having to wake up at 4 in the morning just to shovel shit out of a stall. You don’t have to brush down a dildo; no one ever worries about riding a vibrator hard and putting it away wet: glass-filled polycarbonate’s pretty chemical resistant.

For real: isn’t the word “dressage” just a contraction of the words “dick” and “massage”?

I’d just wish that there’d be one little girl in America who’d up and fess up to her folks, “Ma, Pa, could you get me a horse ‘cause I just like the rocking feel of being fucked without the actual act of penetration. That, and I could use a saddle made out of tampon material, ‘cause if you think that flies swarm on a horse now, wait till you have its back drenched in menses. Big thanks.”