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Santa John Mayer Was In Your House While You Slept: A Pajiba Holiday Tale

By Courtney Enlow | Celebrities Are Better than You | December 27, 2012 | Comments ()


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‘Twas two days after Christmas and all through the house,
The overwhelming presence of a greasy haired louse.
I couldn’t be certain, and my thoughts couldn’t be clear,
But I was filled with a sense of “fuck me, John Mayer is here.”

I looked through the cupboards, I rummaged the blankets,
I thought I found him once, but it was just Julian Casablancas.

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“Sup?”

“Julian Casablancas, what the hell are you doing here?”
“What? Oh hey. Just spreading Christmas cheer.”
“Well…okay. You can leave now. Go ahead and head west.”
“Cool, thanks. By the way, rhyming blankets and Casablancas was tenuous at best.”

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Everyone’s a critic.

So, on my search continued, all day and all night.
When I opened my pantry and jumped with pure fright.
There he sat, splay legged, eating my chips.
“What are you doing, John Mayer?” I shouted, hands on my hips.

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He looked at me, semi-confused,
Suit rumpled like his famous coif, face mildly bemused.
“I thought you’d be happy. The chicks often are.
I wine them and dine them and drive them in my car.”

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“It’s a Prius. I’m pretty into the environment or whatever. Let’s bang.”

“Santa John Mayer. I need you to leave.
This is weird on many levels, and my chips I do grieve.”

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I mean, they were the sweet potato beet ones. THOSE AREN’T CHEAP, SANTA JOHN MAYER.

“It’s odd that you’re here, and you’re making me uncomfortable.
Go home to Katy Perry, her bosom so humpable.”

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Baaaaybbbyyyy you’re a fiiiiiiiiiiiiiirewoooooooooooooork…

“Don’t send me back there. I am literally begging you. I can only take so much.”

“I don’t care, John Mayer. You’ve got to go.
My husband is coming and you’re a notable ho.”
And then he said to me, “Courtney, isn’t Christmas about more than just stuff?
Isn’t about caring, singing and, dare I say, love?”

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Oh Jesus. This ends badly.

And from the trashcan he pulled it, his trusty guitar.
How it got in there, I’ve no idea. This whole thing’s bizarre.
As he began to strum, his heartfeltest tune,
He warbled, lips curled, “we’ve got the afternoon…”

“NO, JOHN MAYER. I SAID SHUT IT DOWN.
Take your guitar, your Santa hat, you manipulative clown.”
And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse,
I glanced down and saw the creature who makes my blood burst.

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“HEY GUYS!”

“GOD DAMMIT, TAYLOR SWIFT. Why are you here?”
“OH, YOU KNOW, JUST SPREADING MY SUNSHINE AND SPARKLES ALL UP IN HERE.”

She looked at John, hope in her eyes, tepid hopefulness stewing.
“Oh. Hey…Taylor…how are you doing?”
“I’M GREAT JOHN, I DON’T EVEN NEED YOU ANYMORE AND I’M AWESOME.”
“…That’s great to hear—” “YEAH I’M SUPER DUPER MAGICAL PETAL BLOSSOM.”

“I DON’T NEED YOU AT ALL, I’M WITH THAT GUY FROM ONE DIRECTION.
SO, I’M WAY OVER YOU AND YOUR ADMITTEDLY RACIST ERECTION.”
“That’s awesome, Taylor, I’m very happy for you—”
“OH MY GOD, JOHNNY MAY MAY, I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, TOO!”

“WE’LL GET MARRIED AND HAVE BABIES AND HOLD HANDS AND FRENCH KISS.
OUR FIRST DAUGHTER WILL BE NAMED DEWDROP SHIMMERBELLBLISS.”
John Mayer looked at me, fear in his eyes.
“Well, on that note, I better be going, you guys.”

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“YOU AND ME AND A MILLION BILLION FOREVERS OR I’LL KILL YOU HAHAHAHA JUST KIDDING I LOVE YOU I’M NOT KIDDING.”

He picked up his satchel and adjusted his hat,
“Thanks for the chips, Court, and…Taylor…good luck with all that.”

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“I’m mentally writing a song about us riding a unicorn to Candyland.”

And, with that, he rose up the chimney and out of my home,
Where he rode his magical guitar to the sky, free to roam.
“Merry Christmas to all, you mothers, you fathers!
And by the way, I totally inseminated your daughters.”

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Comments Are Welcome, Douches Are Not


  • protoformX

    That was incredible. Though I'm an idiot, and was thrown off by the captions and trying to figure out how they fit the rhyme scheme, as I was reading it aloud basically after reading T'was. I eventually figured it out.

    I applaud you Courtney, not just on this, but on always managing to write about these atrocious people I don't care about, and rarely give any thought whatsoever toward; yet somehow you find a way to write about them in a manner that DOES make me give a shit about them for at least as long as it takes to read your post. ASTOUNDING! I don't want to say that I'll be looking forward to whatever you come up with next... that's far too much investment in awful celebrities than I am prepared to admit to. Just know, as someone who actively goes out of the way to avoid E news and the nearly indistinguishable newsstand magazines covers... somehow I consistently return to "Celebrities Are Better Than You"

  • Maguita NYC

    Courtney Enlow tsk-tsk-tsk!

    Clearly, for getting this douchebag's visit, you've been on the naughty list this year. Now tell us why Santa has written your name on the fiendish side, with a many spanking wallops no less!

  • e jerry powell

    I'm not sure who to call first, the exterminator or an exorcist.

    Hell, let's just pack up all the stuff and burn the place down.

  • This is brilliant on a bazillion levels, your iambic virtues, Ms. Courtney, I forever extol. And so please tell, because I simply must know:

    Did you have to use Taylor Swift's "visage" to cover NSFW versions of Mayer's photo?

    Because it looks like he's dressed up as Santa, bringing a "dick in a box" down the chimney- and if that is what is going on in that horrifying photo, I must gouge my eyes out, right here and right now.

  • BAHAHA, no, but now I can't unsee.

  • Mrs. Julien

    He's touching himself in the Santa photo, isn't he?

  • InternetMagpie

    And thus a new Christmas tradition was born!

    Next year, Lohan and the Twelve Vices of Christmas?

  • Thank you for confirming that aside from free shit Christmas is the worst and most scary holiday. Also for making those two people entertaining. It's a Christmas miracle.

  • Brilliant.

    PS You should probably fumigate your house now.

  • KatSings

    I love this so very much.

  • lowercase_ryan

    I need this embroidered on a tapestry at least 8 feet tall that will spend every December prominently displayed on the dominant wall of whatever home I'm in until the day I die.

    *comma

  • Jezzer

    I am totally going to read this aloud every Christmas to my hypothetical children.

  • lowercase_ryan

    You mean the rats?

  • Jezzer

    Haters gotta hate.

  • theotherone

    I'm not sure how Instagram is going to save this one...

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