The Wanker King (Literally)

In case you'd forgotten in the last two seconds that John Mayer is a huge dipshit who emits a constant stream of fuckery from his squalid mouth, he's Rolling Stone's latest coverboy, and there's plenty in the accompanying article to recharge the pistons of contempt. I've seen a bunch of excerpts 'round the internetz today, and there are some real gems—like his search for "the Joshua Tree of vaginas" and how he'll "be happy when I close out this life-partner thing. It's been a long time since I've felt attached. Think of how much mental capacity I'm using to meet the right person so I can stop giving a fuck about it."—but nothing is quite as priceless as his treatise on masturbation:

I am the new generation of masturbator. I've seen it all. Before I make coffee, I've seen more butt holes than a proctologist does in a week. I mean, I have masturbated myself out of serious problems in my life. The phone doesn't pick up because I'm masturbating. And I have excused myself at the oddest times so as to not make mistakes. If Tiger Woods only knew when to jerk off. It has a true market value, like gold bullion. First of all, I don't jerk off because I'm horny. I'm sort of half-chick. It's like District 9. I can fire alien weapons. I can insert a tampon. No, I do it because I want to take a brain bath. It's like a hot whirlpool for my brain, in a brain space that is 100 percent agreeable with itself.

Brilliant. All hail the Wanker King.

[Related Reading: John Mayer Thinks Rape Is Hilarious.]