Have you heard they’ve joined forces created a safe, organic version of Syrup of Ipecac?
Yeah. It’s streaming on-demand whenever you want, no pharmacist consultation necessary.
I honestly don’t even know where to begin with this mess, but I do have a visceral reaction to this video, and it’s DEAR GOD NO. Something feels so inherently wrong, so all-encompassingly not okay with everything that’s happening in this dalliance. Maybe it’s Katy wearing his tribal necklace like she’s his personal sacrifice to the Gods, or that John Mayer is the best blues guitarist of our generation and he’s nuzzling — NUZZLING — someone who has dressed her boobs up like a small smorgasbord of breakfast pastries as a fully-functioning adult.
Or hey, could it maybe be that the message of the song is “I tried to run away from you and thought you were a terrible devil woman, but hey! Your vagina’s cozier than I expected”!? I don’t know; everything about this country-western shit show gives me the fucking heebie-jeebies and I need to open up about it.
I’m all for love. I love love! But this shit?
This is vile. The only couple I’d want to see ride bareback is Amy Poehler and Will Arnett while announcing their rejoined union, with lil’ Archie shouting “yaaaay!!!” from the sandy sidelines, and even then I'd throw up a lil' bit in my throat. I’m sure Katy and John are lovely together. In fact, I’m positive. They probably make fun of Jennifer Aniston, laugh while eating a plate full of oysters and chummying up to their waiter and then go home, where John plays her old Johnny Winter records and she laughs about not understanding "all those musicians." But you know what? It doesn’t matter how much endless joy their days are filled with, or if rainbows fall from the sky to meet them personally and buy a table for their charity benefit because they broke the magic, and have to pay the price. You never star in a video together. Never! That’s one of the two cardinal rules of the music business: don’t get your dick wet in Taylor Swift, and never, ever, ever shoot a music video with your significant other.
Haven’t you learned anything from the millions of people who fuck this up, like Michael Jackson? Or Britney Spears?!?? Jason Trawick has a full-body tribal tattoo in that video and it’s still hotter than any part of this dust bowl bullshit. (Seriously, it’s a dark day in hell when I’m less revolted looking at MJ’s baby powder-white child body than I am you two snuggling.) “But why won’t you give their love a chance?!,” you find yourself asking, sad-eyed like Johnny M. in that clip, clutching an autographed copy of Room For Squares? OK fine. Here’s why. Regardless of if the entire video feels like it drew inspiration from your mom and dad engaging in heavy petting, it’s not the nausea, heartburn and indigestion from my nervous system straight up rejecting this video that’s bothering me. It’s that good god Katy Perry, you of anyone should know better.
I’ve sat through a two-hour movie about you, Hell, I’ve even praised it to people, some of them strangers. STRANGERS! We were with you when you cried in that sad makeup chair about that grease monkey Russell Brand. We were with you when you were heartbroken and boosted up on that sad pop star elevator in that foreign country and had to smile because the show must go on! We rooted for you to overcome, even if you made us pay $14 to see you run around dressed like a s’mores and essentially record a movie-length vlog, because we believed in your redemption! We nodded our head in agreement that that shit was crazy, that you flew too close to the sun with your lavish Indian wedding and limelight love, and nodded our heads in agreement that we’ll only date low-risk accountants and reject anyone who looks like he lives on the back of a sheepskin-upholstered motorcycle. And now you’re putting us through shit again? AGAIN?! Have you learned nothing? Your song is literally about how you probably shouldn’t be doing this. You sing, into his face — into his face! — about how, yeah, this is a pretty bad idea. Your promotional blitz is discussing how you guys don’t want people to know you’re dating, but oops, haha! Yep, there you are. If this is your move to unseat Beyonce, honey, it’s not going to work.
Even before he did the Good Morning America interview above, I was aware of John’s reluctance to put their relationship out there for fear of judgement of their chemistry, but fuck, they should have been more fearful. These two have the magic of an incest cult marriage. Something feels inherently suspect about everything they do. Look into those sad sack eyes. Doesn't he seem a bit like he's been held hostage? Doesn't he look defeated? Doesn't she look like she wants to pay the bill and head home so they can stop pretending already?
The two of them sitting side-by-side making amicable Dad jokes and pleasing the early morning Midwestern audience of GMA look like a rousing couple of PTA parents, and if you don't believe me, don’t worry. THEY BROUGHT SNACKS.
Really, KP? Really? You pulled a page out of the Blake Lively book of tricks and bake something for the host but don't even bother to offer him one of your dough balls? It's a dark day in hell when you can't even outdo the girl who's famous for beach waves and oven finesse, regardless of if you really made those popovers yourself. I mean, Jesus Christ.
You know when you’re longing for these days: