John Mayer's mouth hangs open slightly. I can see in his eyes he's resisting the urge to lick his lips. The temperature in the air immediately drops 10 degrees. I steady myself with a sip off coffee. CRACKED: Moving on. I guess on the subject of offensive language, you've been taking flak for throwing around the "n" word pretty casually. MAYER: I know. I shouldn't have said that. It's a horribly offensive word that I never should have said. I sincerely apologize for that. But some of the things people are saying? These charges that I'm racist are nonsense. I have black friends, and have worked with black artists and colleagues, and like and respect them. And look, Obama is president and I'm thrilled about it. Hell, I hope next time we elect an even blacker guy! CRACKED: Uh... MAYER: I hate cancer patients. CRACKED: What? MAYER: You never see pictures of women having sex with dozens of robots at once any more. CRACKED: I'm sorry, you've lost me here. MAYER: Sometimes people die, and that's terrible. Like that thing in Haiti? I felt so bad for those people. But then you hear about people who are in the hospital and die because they have some disease, and you think, Well, that's your fault for being in the hospital. CRACKED: John? Are you OK? You're starting to freak me out a little. MAYER: All the best music was made by people who weren't me. I accept that. But if I make OK music and my success allows me the opportunity to stick my entire torso inside an elephant's vagina, I think I'm doing pretty good. CRACKED: You're putting me on, right? This is you pulling some sort of elaborate self-destruction spoof? MAYER: I've been to space. I killed a Chinese astronaut and took his place to do it. You know what Chinese astronaut food feels like when you're fucking a tube of it? Awesome. It feels awesome. Suddenly the door to the boardroom bursts open. In comes another John Mayer, this one more artfully disheveled. The John Mayer who I had been interviewing looks up, eyes wide in astonishment. My gaze flicks back and forth between the pair. They do look remarkably similar. MAYER #1: Oh shit. MAYER #2: You fucker! You've been ruining my life! This man has been impersonating me across the country, destroying my reputation. MAYER: #1: I hate America for its freedom! MAYER #2: RARRRRRRGH! With three quick steps, the new (and original?) John Mayer covers the distance between the two, while the copycat tries to get out of his chair. Classic John Mayer tackles his doppelganger to the ground, where they start to wrestle. With the same size and build, the two are equally matched, each struggling to gain the upper hand over themselves. CRACKED: Oh that is nasty. One of the John Mayers has begun sticking his tongue in the other's ear. It really is nasty. Deciding I need to break this up somehow, I go to the wall where an antique fowling piece rests above a mantle. I remove it from its mount and load two shells into it from the convenient bowl of ammunition stored on the mantle. I close the breach, the distinctive sound immediately halting their grappling. Their attention won, I announce what will happen next. CRACKED: OK guys, settle down. This shit right now? This is just like that scene in Pulp Fiction, only in this version, it's going to get weird. Four different John Mayer eyes widen at the prospect of something weirder than ball-gagged buggery in a sweaty basement. I'm just messing with them of course - they're perfectly safe. Fortunately for them, Cracked's resident sadistic hillbilly assfiend is out of the office today. CRACKED: Relax, I'm just fucking with you. OK, here's how this is going to work. I'm going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. It will be just like a regular interview, except I'll be holding a loaded shotgun the entire time and making sudden jerking movements with it to scare you. Deal? Good. OK. You, fake John Mayer: Are you the fake John Mayer? FAKE JOHN MAYER: Yes. CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: Shoot him! Shoot him! CRACKED: I'm not going to shoot anyone, John. Both John Mayers relax at that. Annoyed, I shift my aim slightly and fire the shotgun, obliterating a small decorative plant. CRACKED: Unless I do. OK. Fake John Mayer: Have you been going around impersonating John Mayer and saying crazy things to discredit him? FAKE JOHN MAYER: Yes. CRACKED: And why have you been doing this? FAKE JOHN MAYER: They sometimes have food at these things. CRACKED: Classic John Mayer, what do you have to say to that? CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: That's actually why I usually go to these things too. CRACKED: Good breakthrough, everyone. OK. Fake John Mayer, will you apologize to the original John Mayer for impersonating him and making him look like a crazy sex-fiend racist? FAKE JOHN MAYER: I am sorry about that. CRACKED: Original John Mayer, will you apologize to Fake John Mayer for him being hungry? CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: That doesn't make any sense. A deafening boom as another plant explodes in a cloud of dirt and shrapnel. CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: I am sorry you are sometimes hungry. FAKE JOHN MAYER: Thank you. I accept your apology. CRACKED: That's good. Now that that's behind us, maybe you two can work together from now on? I'm sure that by combining your efforts you could achieve great things. CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: I don't know. CRACKED: Think man! Think of the possibilities! CLASSIC JOHN MAYER: I guess it'd be good for harmonies... CRACKED: I was actually thinking about some kind of insurance fraud or niche pornography. But no, whatever you feel comfortable with. ________

More Blogs