*The most revealing thing about pop star John Mayer’s now infamous Playboy interview was not  his casual objectification of  both past girlfriends and women he doesn’t know.  

And it wasn’t even the fact that Mayer believed he could throw the N word around with impunity because he is embraced by the hip hop community–a    community which shows little respect for the very black guitar giants that Mayer admires, such as B.B. King and Buddy Guy, but which nevertheless falls over itself to declare Mayer  a “badd white boy.”

No, the most telling feature of the Mayer interview was the 32 year-old musician’s reference to his penis as if it had a personality. In his typical  kiss and tell  fashion,  Mayer even sold out his own dick. When asked by the interviewer if black women throw themselves at him, Mayer  indicated that aside from a few exceptions, he’s not attracted to black women; that his penis is a “white supremacist.”

It was meant to be a joke.  But whether or not Mayer’s penis likes black women, I’m sure it didn’t dig Mayer blabbing about it publicly.  

In any case, Mayer’s comradeship with his organ is not  unusual.  In this world there is a man, otherwise thoughtful, intelligent, gifted and well-spoken,   who often  receives guidance and counseling from a distinctive, unrelenting source. This particular man’s copilot in life is his penis.  

You’ve seen this man: his most simplistic paradigm sits at the wheel of an automobile, burning rubber down the avenue, going absolutely nowhere at the speed of stupidity.  

Next time you hear that familiar screeching of tires,  try to look and see if human hands are on the steering wheel.  Most likely there won’t be.  As his car speeds along, that man might be using both his hands to hold a three-patty burger, give himself a shave or read  USA Today.  His hands can be free, because that man isn’t driving that car: his penis is.

More complex versions of the penis running things are illustrated by the dastardly deeds of John Edwards, Tiger Woods, former New York State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer and South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford.  Let’s face it, only a  dick would,  in the midst of governing,  make the decision to covertly fly off to Argentina to be with his “soulmate,” while a hurting, mortified wife, confused kids and the whole state of  South Carolina looked on.  

And  once again the country and the world is left sighing in  obligatory disgust over the desperate, compulsive and shameful  actions of yet another big man bent on listening to his little head.  

Man’s penis always gets him into trouble. It may seem like the world is currently on a sex rampage like never before, but the carnage has been going on in one form or another from time immemorial. Today, a scandal-hungry media is simply better at catching the culprits.   

And those are just the famous ones. You’d be surprised at what–and who–the decent and upstanding community pillar  next door is up to.  The shadowy activities  of your  physician or mailman simply don’t fit what they publicly present themselves to be.

Indeed, middle-aged,  smart men with wives and kids,  university professors,  the laid off  “green” graphic artist, assorted men of the cloth–none are exempt from  proudly christening  their  private parts with dynamic, curious monikers such as The Bat, Mr. Tam  and  Sweet Thunder.  After casting their eyes on the form of a breathing female of any age or persuasion, they routinely survey one another with the all-important: “Could you hit that?”    

Men aren’t alone in this sad business. Anonymously, a society of yearning, desolate men and women of all ages, colors and backgrounds finds itself in the  vice  grip  of impersonal,  empty, narcissistic sex and reckless acting out, looking to fill the hole in its  lonely,  collective soul.   

Penises have been running households, corporations, governments and wars for so long, that unless their actions cause an overt spectacle, we don’t seem to care.   And so, when a likable guy such as Mayer nonchalantly and jokingly refers to his genitals as having choices and a say in life, we barely notice.  

Personally, I’m not going to stop listening to Mayer’s music simply because of what he said in Playboy.  For one thing,  until blacks themselves aren’t  the main reason the N word is so prevalent in the universe   we can’t say  anything about others using it.

By the way, what happened to that horseshit  about blacks using the word  affectionately, thus stripping it of its wounding power?  Sure packed a wallop when Mayer used it, huh?

As for the rest, hopefully Mayer  is learning a valuable lesson, if not about how he chooses to view life, certainly about what comes out of his mouth. Because as it is, when the guy speaks, there’s the undeniable stench of dick on his breath.

Steven Ivory’s book, FOOL IN LOVE (Touchstone/Simon & Schuster) is available at Amazon.com (www.Amazon.com).  Respond to him via STEVRIVORY@AOL.COM