Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: john mayer (Page 42 of 42)

Clocksucker

You can’t be in the Grateful Dead, John Mayer.

“I remember thinking — and this is a very important feeling — that I could go anywhere with this watch, because I couldn’t be lost,” he said. “I could get lost in Paris, but I had my watch. Now, on its face, no pun intended, it doesn’t make sense. All your watch does is tell the time. But why do you feel strapped? Why do you feel equipped?

“It would take a lot of poetry to explain it.”

Everyone hates you John Mayer, and you’re terrible.

After a decade of serious collecting, he was established enough as a connoisseur to ask Patek Philippe (the Geneva-based maker of ultra-high-end watches, founded in 1839) to make him unique pieces by request. One was a white gold 5004G with luminous hands, typically a feature associated with casual sport watches. He needed to see them on stage, he told the company.

Where do you have to be, John Mayer? Do you have a curfew? Is there another interview for you to say something idiotic at, you pretentious piece of cowfuck?

“I’ve always pitched this theory of, if a guy comes up to a restaurant in a red Ferrari, you kind of recoil,” he said. “But if you find out that the guy owned 14 of them and he writes a blog on them, then you can appreciate it, because you can trust that there’s a depth to it.”

You’ve pitched that theory, have you? You’re the Niels Bohr of store-bought cool. Tell me more about the research you’ve done. School me on intention vs. action.

Where’d you get your ink done, man? Show us your tattoos, John Mayer.

“We’re all going to end up with the Apple Watch, I don’t care what you say,” Mr. Mayer said. “Even if you have to wear it on your right hand. Even if you wear it as a pocket watch, because I have a concept that you can slot the Apple Watch into a pocket, as a pocket watch. I think it’s a cool device, but there’s got to be another place to put it. I can’t give up precious wrist space for an Apple Watch.”

Hey, everyone: gather round and listen to John Mayer’s concept. He’s invented the iPhone.

His wrist space is precious, but he’ll let out the bit between his ears for cheap.

“My first tattoo looks nothing like my last tattoo, and they’re the same thing,” Mr. Mayer said. He pulled up the right sleeve of his T-shirt to demonstrate.

“That’s the best koi fish you can find,” he said dismissively, nodding toward the crude fish tattoo he got at 18. “And that,” he said, pulling up his other sleeve to show off a lovely reinterpretation he got at 32, “is the koi fish that you want.”

He lowered the sleeve. “It all represents the trip through knowledge.”

Known When To Walk Away; Know When To Run

IMG_1551“A tour?”

“A quick one.”

“With this John Mayer person with whom I am completely unimpressed?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a 74-year-old man who doesn’t want to stay in hotels and is quite happy walking away from the table with the multi-million payday we have guaranteed. Billy’s become this weird old crazy person and you keep collapsing.”

“I don’t keep collapsing.”

“You’re on the floor now, Bob. During this brief conversation, you slid gently to the ground.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So, why are you on the floor?”

“You’re on–”

“I’m done.”

“–the floor, man.”

Space (X)

bobby john mayer elon musk“So, I guess you got what you wanted, Johnny Marshmallow.”

“John Mayer.”

“You’re a Grateful Dead, now, I suppose.”

“Dude, this is the greatest thing ever: I’ve always wanted to be a Grateful Dead ever since the first time I listened to you guys two years ago.”

“Great.”

“I’m going to get the most fashionable set of trousers you’ve ever seen, Bobby.”

“I know a place.”

“Get my haircut real cool.”

“I also know a place for that. Right next to the pants place, actually.”

“What’s this look you’ve got going on here?”

“Guy who tells people in was in the military at a barbecue.”

“You had a specific vision.”

“I did.”

“I respect that.

“We’re all a bit older than you, y’know. Might do stuff a bit differently.”

“That’s no problem, Bob. What stuff?”

“Well, we all hang around backstage completely naked with towels over our shoulders. Sometimes, we’ll put our legs up on stuff: we make personal hygiene public, basically.”

“That’s fine, I guess.”

“Also, when any of us want to get in touch with you, we call. If you don’t pick up, we leave long and detailed voice-mail messages containing important mumbled information.”

“Old school.”

“Oh, speaking of that: gimme your Twitter.”

“What? How?”

“Don’t sass me. Give me your Twitter; hand it over; let’s go.”

“Um.”

“Dammit, Jasper–”

“John.”

“–I will strip you down and search you up. Gimme the tweetybird.”

“Ah, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Bob, I was scared!”

“I know what the Twitter is.”

“Twitter.”

“Now, if it were Phil, he would legitimately not understand.”

“Gotcha.”

“Joke aside, you are gonna have to stop using the Twitter, though. And all that other bullshit, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Bobby, listen: my–”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Hey. If your response contains the phrases “social media” or “brand awareness” or “legion of followers,” then I’m gonna kick your ass with my old man strength.”

“–legion of…okay, man.”

“Grateful Deads don’t tweet.”

“All of you have Twitter accounts.”

“The 28-year-old publicist of a Grateful Dead may, if he or she so chooses, tweet. A Grateful Dead does not.”

“You know Elon Musk?”

“Someone introduced me.”

“Can you believe he asked for free tickets?”

“Plus he drives an electric car, so he gets a discount on parking.”

“Rich get richer.”

“You said it, Bobby.”

He Dresses Like A Grateful Dead…

IMG_1540“I’m sorry, Josh Mailer.”

“John Mayer.”

“You know I wanted you to be a Grateful Dead.”

“I had business cards made, Bobby.”

“What can I tell you, man: turns out a half-assed semi-supergroup can’t sell out two nights at a football stadium.”

“I updated my Facebook status.”

“Can’t help ya. I’m sure Taylor Swift will comfort you.”

“Oh, no: that was forever ago. I’m dating Katy Perry now.”

“Huh: you were having sex with Taylor Swift; now you have sex with Katy Perry.”

“Yes.”

“So, you should probably stop being such a little bitch, huh?”

“You might have a point, Bob.”

“Taylor just lay there?”

“Like a frightened starfish.”

“Katy looks like fun.”

“Fun girl, yes. Lot of fun.”

“Yup, yup. Looks fun.”

“Fun times.”

“Big boobies.”

“Yeah, I love touching them.”

“Oh, I would touch them all the time.”

Excuse me, please: what the shit is this fuckery?

“We’re talking about Katy Perry.”

“And her boobies.”

Bobby, did you share your pills with John Mayer again?

“No.”

“I brought my own.”

“He brought his own.”

Y’know what: Team Phil. Your wild card shenanigans are going to fuck up the shows, Bobby.

“Aw, geez.”

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