Prince of puss-rock and singer/songwriter/guitarist John Mayer apparently feels that he owes the world two cents on the dark cloud of judgment that has been hovering over his ex, bad f*ck charm Jessica Simpson, due to her instrumental role in ending the Cowboys’s pursuit if this year’s gold ring.
On his blog (yeah yeah, everyone’s a blogger), he writes:
Dear Dallas and Surrounding Areas,
This isn’t a sports blog, and it isn’t a publicity stunt. (but have at me if it feels right.)
This is about doing what I think is right as a person, in this case speaking my mind.
I have never known anyone to have more pride in their home state and their upbringing in it than Jessica Simpson has in Texas. I don’t really follow sports, but I have played some of my biggest and best concerts in your state, and having witnessed how dynamic the spirit there is, I’m betting emotions are running high right about now.
All witty barbs, blogs, and fashion policing aside, that girl loves Texas more than you know. It’s one of her most defining traits as a person. So please don’t try and take that away from her. (You probably wouldn’t be able to, but it’s less work for all involved.)
I just thought it would mean something coming from the guy who has the absolute least to gain from this. And if I’m out of line in having written it, too bad. I can spare a Wednesday’s worth of bad press if it means sticking up for a good soul.
Now you listen here, John Mayer. I have said very few bad things about you in the past, save for the occasional jab at your white man’s puff and mild bewilderment at your inability to channel god-given fret-burning ability into anything but songs for moms to masturbate to. But who the funk are you to tell Dallas–and surrounding areas–or anyone at all– how to judge Jessica Simpson?
You don’t watch sports. The closest you’ve come to Texas Stadium is a show you played at the Smirnoff Music Centre where everybody likely sat down through the performance. Come on, muthafucka!
Do you even know what it means to care about a football team? Do you know what it’s like to spend year after year after year of your life trying to show your support, acquiring clothing for all weather types in your team color, spending your Sundays biting your nails, following your instincts to turn your hat (or rally poncho) backwards (or inside out) or whatever it takes to give your wide receiver sticky hands or the QB a laser eye (sometimes it works, just ask baseball fans)? Have you ever teared up watching that squirty little ball get knocked out of a running back’s hands just before he crosses into the end zone? Have you ever felt your head fall to the floor in disappointment after a missed field goal attempt? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE FOOTBALL? I HIGHLY DOUBT IT. BECAUSE IF YOU HAD ANY MINUSCULE GRASP OF WHAT IT MEANS TO CARE ABOUT THE GAME, YOU COULDN’T POSSIBLY DARE TO CALL IT “DYNAMIC SPIRIT” OR “IMAGINE” THAT “EMOTIONS ARE RUNNING HIGH.”
EMOTIONS ARE ALWAYS HIGH. THAT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE FOOTBALL.
So how dare you, you pansy-ass, sports-ignorant, weight fluctuator… how dare you speak to football fans as if you have any idea how they feel? How dare you base a statement on such paltry research (i.e. putting your dick in someone), and ask Cowboys fans not to place blame for the destruction of their hopes and dreams on the talentless, blonde moron who could not wait for football season to be over–in less than a month–to spread her legs for the quarterback? Who the hell are you? Don’t you ever, EVER tell them how to think or what to feel or who to blame ever again! Do you read me?
Come on dude, they’re Texans. They’re gonna do whatever the fuck they want to. And that’s a promise.
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