Manorexia...this summer's hottest trend?

From Marc Anthony to Carson Daly, this year's new masculine couture is taking a page from the women's fashions of yesteryear. I personally don't enjoy this latest fad, as I like to eat ribs, not see them exposed on a shirtless guy at the beach. After all, I am only human and the time will come when I will no longer be able to resist my urge to play a ribcage like a xylophone.

My personal opinions aside, the headlines this month proclaim that manorexia has claimed yet another hapless hetero: John Mayer.

Sure, he's not really a gay icon. That said, I often doubt he is actually, in fact, human. I have long since surmised that those crazy genetic scientists at Columbia/Sony BMG cooked him up in a test tube by splicing the following:

+

=

Oh, John Mayer, you're the only celebrity I know of that would sign a piece of trash. Though I suspect Pamela Anderson would also do as much for her "fans".

For years, Mayer's non-offensive blend of blues-rock musings and boy-next-door good looks have left me feeling...well...like I'm watching a bag of Wonderbread dry-out on my kitchen counter. But then there was that delightful guest appearance on Chappelle's Show. And then the tattoos. And then Jessica Simpson. And then the marvellous romantic hybrid that is Anistayer or Johniffer or some other clever mash-up of names that escapes me right now.

So, whatever his dietary choices may be, whether it's a cup of dust or a McRib sandwich, I've decided that I like the guy and have decided to include him on my list of things that get better with age. I've been a fan ever since he lightened up my spring with:


Look at those legs. Look at those pubes. Look at that...is he stuffing?

Where the fuck can I get one of these?

Lastly: John Mayer, if I ever see you wearing the Borat-sling in person, you've won the right to teabag me...I'm all yours, baby! Ughn!