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Anyway, my friend Joseph is a big music guy ...He's loved John Mayer for years now, so much so that there is an autographed picture of Mayer next to his toilet (I'll let you draw your own conclusions). But alas, there is trouble in paradise. And Joseph is here to share that trouble with you. So without further ado, I give you "An Open Letter to Mr. John Mayer," penned by New Jersey is Clean, Idiots' first guest-writer, Joseph.

Dear John,

We've been together a long time, you and I. Through both feast and famine, the Bush administration, the aftermath of Y2K, and the Von Dutch trucker hat, your melodies have dusted the soundtrack of my existence much like that of a scene from a demented romantic comedy that lacks both requisite components. John, I'll be honest - it's been a test of both emotional endurance and musical devotion, but, regrettably, things have finally come to a head. It's time we had a little chat. Please listen and listen well.

You're a douche.

I can certainly look beyond the fact that your greatest commercial successes are tied to such lyrical revelations as, "One pair of candy lips," and, wait for it, "Your bubblegum tongue." Granted, if you really get off on Dubble Bubble, more power to you. The creepy-solo-face-thing? You probably go 6 to midnight every time you try and hone your inner Hendrix. So be it. Your affinity for courting America's favorite tabloid fodder? Let's not kid ourselves into thinking you entertained Joe Simpson's wonder child for her insights into the global economy. I don't hold it against you. Not entirely, at least.

But, seriously, shut the fuck up.

Your Twitter page is a busted caps lock and mullet fro short of Mr. Jesus Walks, though even he seems a step above the fervor with which you "tweet" like a pubescent parakeet from hell. Please put down the narcissism you peddle as intelligent introspection, put your tray table back in its upright position, and prepare for landing back in reality where no one needs to know you're "having a bad pubic hair day." You speak the truth in stating Twitter "has lost a little bit of its new car smell." Yes, John, you bought a lemon. Please take it back. It smells like pubes.

And, no, it's not the tattoos, the oodles of TMZ-worthy cover girls in your future, or the fact that "Your Body is a Wonderland" makes me want to violently punch an infant. The guitar gymnastics you perform? God-like. Musicianship? Top notch. But, honestly, lock it up.

Today has been a long day coming, John, but it's finally over between us. Our ship has sailed, but not before you were tossed overboard to drown in a pleasant, little sea of self-concern. My only hope is that the sharks enjoy your body. And all your candy-coated insides.

Joe