I kind of feel for John Mayer. His testicles are the new celebrity gossip punching bags.
Any woman seen or photographed or working in close or far proximity to Mayer becomes tabloid fodder, an always eventually abandoned conquest left only with a wet spot and a crumbled heart. The bad-boy-Lothario poster boy. Even teen pop sweetie Taylor Swift has (allegedly) penned a song for her new album that (perhaps) is an ode to how he (maybe) done her then done her wrong. For those not in the know (a.k.a those with a life outside idle idol worship and TMZ.com) last year she provided some collaboration plus a small vocal (and maybe more) for Mayer’s last album.
Now in “Dear John” she pines, "Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?" Mayer is 33 and Swift now 20 (way to go Mom). And from the sound of her bubble-gum-pink scented lyrics, things ended badly:
It was wrong
Don't you think nineteen's too young
To be played
By your dark, twisted games
When I loved you so.
My mother accused me of losing my mind
But I swore I was fine
You'll add my name to your long list of traitors
Who don't understand
And I'll look back in regret
I ignored what they said 'Run as fast as you can.'
It's no “You’re So Vain” but then the girl is an embryo.
Who ever claimed rock stars beacons of morality and good boyfriend material? They aren’t meant to practice tantric yoga and eat soy sausages. I want mine to sleep around, fight crabs, turn it to 11, drink and drug and collapse in a pool of their own sick. And eat from an endless buffet of women, smart girls, stupid girls, girls who climb on rocks, fat girls, skinny girls, even girls with chicken pox...
That’s why boys want to be rock stars. Girls too. Just ask a Go-Go.
And if guitar players have taught me nothing, "dark, twisted games" can be fun if you read the instructions printed on the bottom of the box first.