John Mayer's hair looks disheveled. Not in the fake "I spend 30 minutes every morning trying to look disheveled" way that those dudes with wallet chains look. No, he looks like he's been sleeping in a car. And not his car. John Mayer looks like a man who wanders around for hours every night, trying car door handles, looking for a place to sleep. John Mayer looks like a man who shits in completely inappropriate places. We're sitting in the boardroom at Cracked headquarters, looking out over the walnut orchard where Finnish immigrant and company founder Johann Krakt first settled 175 years ago. It was from this walnut farm that Johann and his descendants built the walnut, comedy and arms manufacturing empire that you know well today. John is with me because he wants to "set the record straight." Public opinion has turned against him recently, following a series of disastrously candid interviews he's had with other publications. In the great cocktail party that is the American media, the sudden introduction of phrases like "pitching a tent in a vagina," and "my dick is like a white supremacist" have halted the conversation as effectively as a dog throwing up on the table. Today John Mayer is here to clean up after the dog vomit that is everything he says. CRACKED: Thanks for agreeing to meet with us today John. JOHN MAYER: No, it's my pleasure. CRACKED: So I guess we'll cut right to it; how
you been dude? You look like you've seen better days. MAYER: It's been a rough couple months. CRACKED: Are we talking drugs here? MAYER: No, it's nothing like that. Drugs are wrong man. I tried coke once and it was a disaster. CRACKED: Yeah? How so? MAYER: I dunno. I was fucked up. I guess I went to the local SPCA and adopted everything in sight. I guess I thought I needed to have an army, right? CRACKED: An army of sickly cats? MAYER: Exactly! So I've got these cats, and I'm training them right? You know, trying to train them how to fight as a unit. And I need you to understand, we're still in the parking lot of the SPCA here. CRACKED: Right.
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MAYER: And it wasn't going well, as you could imagine. So I started yelling at the cats, calling them faggots and such, like a drill sergeant would. CRACKED: Uh huh. MAYER: