Remember Dusty Dinkleman in Just Friends, the hapless sap vying with Ryan Reynolds for the affections of the ever-illusive Miss Jamie Palamino? On the surface, the dude was unbearably sweet — we're talking elderly-serenading, kitten-cuddling, hold-your-hair-while-you're-puking sweet. Beneath the facade, however, lurked a completely depraved, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing ultra-perv, who, when left to his own devices, eventually showed his hand. John Mayer is Dinkleman incarnate. If you didn't know any better and he never opened his mouth to prove otherwise, you'd think he was the kind of pensive, heart-on-his-sleeve chap that women immediately want to protect. Turns out he's actually a creep, and the only feelings this bluesman lothario has reside in his trousers and have a pronounced weakness for napalm of the blonde persuasion. Luckily, Mayer isn't saying much these days. To anyone. But then, you have a better chance of getting the girl when you let the music do the talking.
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