General Stanley McChrystal was forced to resign Wednesday after an article in Rolling Stone in which he was mocked members of the administration, including Vice President Joe Biden. If only McChrystal had spoken to Spin this could’ve been avoided — because no one would have read the story.  If ridiculing Biden alone was grounds for dismissal, Obama wouldn’t have any members in his cabinet. The real reason the general was sent marching to the unemployment line was for his awful taste in music. He guest-reviewed the new Miley Cyrus CD and awarded it as many stars as he has: five. Here are some more incriminating excerpts from his sit-down with the music magazine.

The decision to dismiss McChrystal is seen by some as Kabullshit.

Interviewer: Why the glowing review of Miley Cyrus’ work?

McChrystal: The title of her new album, Can’t Be Tamed, that reminds me so much of [Afghan President] Hamid Karzai. That son of a bitch is more slippery than any animal in the Gulf Coast right now. Plus, Miley has two identities that overlap and are sometimes indistinguishable: Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus. That’s Karzai. Sometimes he’s an ally and sometimes he’s an adversary — you can’t never tell which he’ll act like. Plus, they both like to accessorize. Karzai is always wearing some colorful hat that straddles the line between stylish and ridiculous. He can’t run a country worth a damn, but he could manage the hell out of a haberdashery if he wanted to. Speaking of working in retail, I think that might be better fit for [Vice President] Biden than his current role.

Interviewer: Do you have something against the Vice President?

McChrystal: No, no. But to use his own words, I think it’s “a big fucking deal” that a guy who looks like the most strenuous activity he should have planned for the day is attending a church picnic is second in command.

Interviewer: Is he doing a disservice to the office?

McChrystal: Well, when you see him out at the Stanley Cup finals and then at the World Cup matches in South Africa, you wonder if he has a role to serve. It’s almost like he’s a kid out of school for the summer and the President is his parent, who to keep Biden out of his hair, just sends him away to these sports events, like they’re short summer camps.

Interviewer: So you view the Vice President as both child-like and elderly?

McChrystal: What I’m saying is, while the President is trying to figure out the oil spill, unemployment, the national debt, the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, I believe Biden is spending his time making crafts out of popsicle sticks and playing bocce ball on the White House lawn.

Interviewer: What is your relationship like with General Petraeus?

McChrystal: Call me paranoid, but I’m always skeptical of a man whose name sounds like “Betray us.” I don’t trust him. I’m also suspicious of General Motors, General Electric and especially General Mills — after I found out Golden Grahams don’t actually contain gold.

Interviewer: You’ve been lobbying publicly for a troop surge. Why?

McChrystal: That’s been misconstrued. I’ve actually been lobbying for Surge for the troops. The forces we have need more energy. But when I found out they stopped making the soft drink in 2001, I started asking for Jolt and Vault. To fight off the insurgents, we don’t need more weapons and armor, we need more sugar and caffeine.

Interviewer: How much did you know about Afghanistan before assuming command?

McChrystal: To be honest, I thought Afghans were blankets, not a group of people. The only poppy seeds I’d seen before stepping foot in the country were on a bagel.

Interviewer: What have you taken away from your year in charge?

McChrystal: After being surrounded by sand for so long, I have no desire to visit a beach again. Which will work out fine, since we soon won’t have any left in the U.S.

Interviewer: Do you think the rules in place to protect Afghan civilians have made it tougher for troops to pursue their targets?

McChrystal: Sure, it’s a difficult assignment for the soldiers. It’s like having [Stone Temple Pilot's leader singer] Scott Weiland record an album sober [ed. which he supposedly did for the band's latest release]. It’s a risk and some people are going to be pissed off about the decision, but you have to trust he has the training to do the job well. Although, if he were in Afghanistan, he’d fall off the wagon in a heartbeat [laughs].

Interviewer: For our readers, could you describe how the conflict is going using a music analogy?

McChrystal: There’s a better chance of Katy Perry remaining relevant a year from now than us winning this war. Obviously, we want to avoid both of these horrible situations from dragging on, but we must brace ourselves for the possibility of them continuing.  As I’ve learned over the years, sometimes the greatest threat to a nation comes from within.

Do soccer fans really wonder why more people don’t watch their sport when we listen to shit like the vuvuzela for 90 straight minutes? There’s backlash on both ends – those ends being people in South Africa on one side and everyone else in the god damned world on the other. Hometown devotees see it as a rally horn, just like the noisemakers that assholes in the US use during sporting events. Defenders cling to the belief that it’s a long standing tradition that shouldn’t be banned simply because some whiny jackasses roll into town and demand everything be changed to suit them.

Apparently these critics have also never been on the internet, notably any web site based in the US. It is a world where literally everything you do is wrong. It is not a safe place.

In all fairness, I haven’t seen a full soccer game since I was in a peewee league when I was 7. Even then, I got booted in the head a lot, so that might explain the headaches every time someone mentions a free kick on the goalie. If we’re going to claim this a tradition, this monstrosity that is scarcely a decade old and simulates fellating a gigantic bee, there are a few soccer customs I’d like to incorporate into FIFA play as well.

Fun Fact: Vuvuzelas are made from the dried out husks of Snork heads

The Calm before the Horn – Before blowing on your vuvuzela, you must funnel a PBR. That’s a tradition back in America – getting soused up on crappy light beer. Only two things can happen after that – you drink ’til you’re physically incapable of blowing those or you choke on your vomit and die. Frankly, both are winners in my book.

He-mandates – After every goal, the striker needs to shout out “By the power of greyskull, I HAVE THE POWER!”. Bonus points for turning your mid field into Battlecat when you do it.

Tie goes to the punner – This bullshit where no one scores has gotta stop. The end of game “shootouts” are now decided not with shots on goal but shots on each other. Incorporate paintball into the game where last team standing is determined winner. I bet you’ll start regretting those little shorts now too.

Red card for the crimson wave – I don’t understand how soccer fans can be some of the craziest bastards in sports (outside of Rugby players, those dudes don’t fuck around) and yet their players are the biggest bunch of little bitches. Now I know why they call them “periods” – all the players are apparently crying because they’re on the rag the entire game. Should a player be found to flop, they have to hang a tampon around their neck for the rest of the game.

Rally Monkey – I get why South Africans feel the need to act like assholes (trust me, I live in NYC) and cheering on your team is an integral part of sports. What you need is not obnoxious fans (you’ve got them in spades) but insufferable corporate mascots to direct your opposing hatred towards. I say we export our greatest resource – douchebag marketing execs – out to the world to focus test or market research or whatever the hell it is they call bullshitting with their thumbs up their asses in order to come up with the most obnoxious animal in the world. Of course, the answer is Perez Hilton, but we can kill two birds with one stone by dumping a few db’s along the way.

– Should none of the above work, we must retaliate in kind. They come at us with a knife, we don’t just hit back with a gun; we plan a tactical nuclear strike. The new official song for soccer is Kevin Federline’s PoPoZao. I can only hope our children’s children can forgive us someday.

Just like with Julia Roberts, I’ve tolerated Mother Nature for years, even though I actually can’t stand her. When I make this admission, people tend to react with anger. “How can you hate things as wholesome and universally liked as those, are you a monster?” To which I respond, “First, I’m more of a mutant. Second, I’m upset Ms. Roberts never read my scripts, Confessions of a Dangerous Mime, about a murderous Marcel Marceau, and Rotting Hill, a zombie rom-com. And third, Mother Nature is kind of a bitch, with her assortment of brush fires, hurricanes, sand storms and earthquakes she unleashes on us defenseless humans.”  This time, Mother Nature went too far, damaging my car in a storm, so I’m ending my relationship with her. I mean, she’s not even my real mother! She didn’t raise me. To exact my revenge, I’m going to use the Seagal classic, On Deadly Ground, as a guideline. Only I’m going to do the exact opposite. Going against the actions of Segal isn’t a strategy I’d recommend, but desperate times call for desperate measures. For instance, when the cashier at the grocery store asks if I want paper of plastic, I’ll say, “Both” because using two different types of bags works best when suffocating a California condor. Here are some other schemes to lay waste to the Western Hemisphere’s wilderness.

This pic was taken moments after the accident (I’m on the left, Will’s to the right), right before my Final Fight on Mother Nature started.

Waging a hole-y war. Call me a traditionalist, but I like to begin battles the 13th-century way. Grand Canyon, meet my collection of cannons. This assault on Arizona will give John McCain an opportunity to dust off his musket and go out in a blaze of glory like he’s always wanted to (it’s a bonus that I’m brown).

Mounting an offensive. The Rocky Mountains will be carved to feature the face of the fictional boxer from every film, except the fifth. The Grand Teton range will be sculpted into the image of Mr. T. Fools who don’t visit a mountain with a mohhawk will be pitied.

Peeing in the National Parks. Nature called me collect and stuck me with the charges, so I”m returning the call of nature. This is a turf war and I plan to Marc my territory. Yellowstone is going to be a lot yellower by the time I’m through with it.

Foiling the foliage. I’ll tear down tropical trees and open a series of strip clubs — Jungle Fever, Junk in the Trunk, Stumps ‘N Humps and Toucan’s Cans — are a few possible names. Where there used to be rain forests, they’ll be people making it rain.

Dewing damage. Soda will be substituted for water, as the Red River will become the Mountain Dew Code Red River, rotting the soil even more rapidly than it rots teeth. This extreme idea will lead to ex-streams.

Joining forces with BP. This is the most radical action I can take, but also the one that will require the least effort from me, since BP seems content to due the heavy lifting. I can ruin a river, but they have the resources to contaminate an entire ocean. With our combined contempt for Mother Nature we should be able to take her down once and for all.

It’s time again for the World Cup, the most important quadrennial event — right after the Presidential election, Leap Year, the Summer and Winter Olympics, and Family Feud changing hosts (for 2010 it’s Steve Harvey. Was Sinbad not available?). Although our ignorance of soccer, or “badminton” as it is known throughout the rest of the world, is so immense that we think a header is what’s at the top of this post and a sweeper is person with a broom, we still managed to put together a preview for the sports spectacle that the world passionately embraces in a full-body hug, yet the U.S. gives a halfhearted nod to from a comfortable distance. Could this be the year when we make physical contact and give the global game a respectful fist bump?

The keeper can let in ghouls, but not goals.

United States. The team is staying on a 100-year-old farm, presumably because in Johannesburg it is the equivalent of a 5-star hotel. South Africa’s version of the Double Tree is a hammock tied to two trunks. This group is clearly concerned with seeding, just not the ranking type. With the talent of Landon Donovan and Clint Dempsey, plus their newfound agricultural acumen, this team has the potential to thrill and till.

France. With Zinedine Zidane retired, France will be short on leadership and headbutts. His absence will be felt, as the list of tough Frenchman is short: Napoleon, Andre the Giant and Zidane.

Netherlands. The Netherlands have been disqualified from play, after the entire team tested positive for every narcotic known to exist.

Greece. To try to pay off its enormous national debt, Greece has agreed for the duration of the tournament to be known as “Universal Pictures’ Get Him to the Greek — in theatres now!” (a new mega marketing technique dubbed “re-Russell Branding”) and let P. Diddy be its coach. Prepare for him to mix up, then re-mix, the roster.

England. David Beckham, who convinced Americans soccer is worth watching about as well as his wife convinced us her singing is worth listening to, isn’t suiting up. England’s coach has banned his players from having sex — no ifs ands or butts. To put striker Wayne Rooney’s popularity in perspective for all of our senior citizen readers, he’s a bigger star than Andy Rooney and Mickey Rooney combined.

Argentina. Their coach, the legendary Diego Maradona, is already the talk of the tournament, after causing a commode-tion demanding special toilets and vowing to run naked if his team is crowned the champs. Suddenly, the phrase “winning streak” has a whole new meaning. Maybe he should  promise to do so if they lose instead or go the Major League route and have players remove a piece of clothing on a cardboard cutout of him after every victory. Let’s hope a team exposes Argentina’s weaknesses before the coach can expose himself.

Ivory Coast. The coast is no longer clear, as their best player, Dider Drogba is likely out with a broken arm, meaning its chances for contention are slipping away like a wet bar of Ivory soap. The good news is, for once, the ivory in danger isn’t part of an elephant.

Slovakia and Slovenia. The WilyKit and WilyKat of the soccer world*. Pay them no mind and they’ll go away.

*Serbia is Snarf and we’ll be pronouncing Argentina’s Lionel Messi as “Lion-O.” Turns out, soccer can be interesting when you draw parallels to 80s cartoons. Hmm..now which club is most like Robotech?

Italy. The nation has always been a soccer powerhouse, probably because it is shaped like a boot. Much like Russia is a gymnastics great because it is shaped like a pommel horse.

Chile. This is not the place you go gorge on cheap ribs and sip strawberry daiquiris occasionally. That’s Chili’s. This is a country in South America. When it comes to soccer or dining, neither is considered a favorite.

South Africa. Proper soccer etiquette states that the host country should lose graciously (keeping the number of injuries faked to a minimum), formally introduce nations that haven’t met (Algeria will be doing a lot of hand-shaking) and make sure everyone has enough to drink, but not too much. That last duty could be challenging with Australia around.

Honduras. Government employees are being given time off to watch the matches. And here bosses bitch when you fill out the NCAA bracket on company time. Almost makes you want to move to a third-world country – until you realize they don’t have a Chili’s.

Just as America was about to get rid of the odious wanker Simon Cowell, the Brits unleashed another expensive and long-term disaster on our shores, literally, in the form of the BP oil spill. Guess those limey gits are pretty slick when it comes to creating hazards. Making the messes go away is another matter (BP actually stands for Bloody Pillocks). They’ve tried the top hat and top kill techniques to stem the flow, but here are some of the other top proposals considered. Keep in mind this is a country that thinks listening to Coldplay and eating pickled herring for breakfast are good ideas.

The Four Tops: It’s time for BP to face the music and there’s no better way than with actual music. The company may not have a soul, but this quartet does. These do-woppers are about to turn do-gooders. They sung “Reach Out I’ll Be There” and over four decades later we’ll take them up on their generous offer. BP’s executives should take a lesson out of The Four Tops’ songbook and address their outspoken critics as “Sugar pie honey bunch,” since it’s difficult to remain furious after being flattered. A more direct approach involving musicians is to have the members of ZZ Top shave off their trademark beards and use the excess of facial hair to clog the leak. To get us out of trouble, the rockers must trim down to stubble.

Top Gun: The plan is to collect the millions of copies of the movie on VHS no longer being watched and take them right into the “Danger Zone.” If this maverick move isn’t made, men’s beach volleyball on the East Coast will disappear (leaving drunken frat boys little to do on spring break), while goose and other wildlife will continue to suffer worse than Kelly McGillis’ career (her last movie was called Supergator, though the spill could spawn a sequel).

The Iceman cometh to stop the spill

Top Ramen: There’s plenty of the cheapest food-like substance known to man — you could say we’ve got Oodles of Noodles lying around. It’s time to start ramming the Ramen down Deepwater Horizon, like we’re back in college and it’s 2 a.m. on a Thursday, and we’ve had a dozen Natty Lights. The product may be Asian in origin, but the solution is very American: we believe a heaping pile of salt improves everything. We can accept awful, unnatural things, so long as they’re covered in sodium (see: McDonald’s menu).

Topps baseball cards: Since we can’t stick Barry Bonds’ swollen head in the hole, we’re swinging for the fences with this suggestion, as we know there are many moms across the country eager to donate dusty and worthless stacks taking up prime attic space they want to use for the countless Chia Pets you bought for them, you cheap and ungrateful bastard. The Seattle Mariners will be in charge of arranging the cards, picked for the job partly because of their name and partly because no one will miss them if they fail to reemerge. Unopened packs are preferred, since the stale sticks of gum inside are among the sturdiest objects we could send underwater.

Top 40 Countdown fan mail: All the pointless, incoherent and instantly disposable letters from tweens begging to hear the latest equally pointless, incoherent singles from instantly disposable pop stars Casey Kasem received over the years finally have a purpose. Ball them up (sorry, Jackie in Topeka) and drop them in the water. Kasem always advised listeners to “keep your feet on the ground,” but we don’t think he’d want them stuck there due to stepping in tar balls. And like the rest of Kasem’s sign-off phrase, we’ll “keep reaching for the stars” because it’s the one place we have yet to pollute.

Ed. Note: If you were hoping for an entry about a recently concluded TV drama, sorry. We refuse to discuss things that don’t even attempt to make any sense. We call it the Courtney Love rule (and sometimes the BCS rule).

This story, about Robert De Niro being ripped off by a New York art dealer who was selling paintings by the actor’s deceased father without permission, broke almost one year ago. As fast as news is churned out and digested on the Internet, it might as well have happened in the Paleozoic era (take a minute to imagine a world containing both dinos and De Niro — epic, isn’t it?). For reasons know only to Mennonites and the inventors of Silly Putty (those two groups are not, as previously thought, one and the same), this post, originally titled, No Tengo De Niro, was never published. It’s true that good things come to those who wait — or at least so-so things that help waste about 15 minutes while you’re bored at work trying to devise the most painful method of killing the 5 Hour Energy drink guy (you’ve already planned the time of death: 2:30 in the afternoon). But enough of your violent fantasies, it’s time to examine a celebrity’s murderous thoughts. What follows are the heated words the actor had with the scammer.

Where to start? I’m so angry, I’m pacing and seeing red. I’m like a raging bull. You’re not a good fella, that’s for sure. You like paintings so much, let me paint a picture for you: my first, your face. It’s pop art. As in, I pop you in the jaw until you return my money. You may deal in fine art, but to me, there’s no finer art than a well-crafted beat-down. Funny how you can’t spell “painting” without ‘pain.’ Analyze that, you bastard.

Maybe it’s all in the perspective. I’m no art critic, but I know what I like: vengeance. On velvet, if possible. I’m not too picky. You can replace Elvis with Sinatra. The dogs don’t have to be playing poker. Just some kind of card game. Gin rummy is good. Not Uno. I play that with my nieces. They’re ruthless. Seriously, if I have to draw four one more time, I’m gonna go nuts.

Steal art from De Niro and you might have a brush with death.

Don’t even think about talking to the cops. I’ve played more police than you’ve taken leaks, capiche? You speak to the law and that’ll be a big mistake. Bigger than my decision to appear in Stardust. A gay captain named “Shakespeare?” Christ, I must’ve eaten some week-old marinara when I agreed to that role. Johnny Depp, I ain’t.

I’ll rearrange your face so bad you’ll look like a Picasso. Think I can’t hit hard? I was in Rocky. No, not the one about the pugnacious boxer. The one with the squirrel. Rocky and Bullwinkle. Don’t laugh. That rodent was tough. Took on the Russians with just his dumb moose pal.  He could fly. Had aviator goggles and everything. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the pummeling.

I’ll send you on a trip. First to Cape Fear, then to meet your parents. Provided that they’re six feet under. Here’s the good news: it’ll only take 15 Minutes. Whew, I’m tired. Incorporating all those titles of my movies surreptitiously while flapping my gums ain’t no picnic. Plus, I’ve been trying to exercise more. I went on a midnight run before our encounter. See what I did there?

You’re probably asking yourself, “What just happened?” It’s your lucky day, pal. I’m letting you off with a warning: Don’t steal from me. ‘Cause I can make you disappear faster than Pacino’s career in the 2000s. A made-for-TV movie about Kevorkian, can you believe it? I know it was premium cable, but still. Poor son of a bitch is on a path to Celebrity Apprentice. I’m upset just thinking about Al’s fall…now go on, get out of here before I change my mind.

Two weekends ago, Steve Jobs carried on a heated email exchange with a blogger from Gawker on the supposed revolution of the iPad and what it means to the future of technology. This discord has become so popular even mainstream media sites like CNN have picked up on it. The last time an internet flame war was covered by major news organizations we were discussing the power struggle on whether Charles was in charge or if it was Tony Danza who is really the boss.

We too had some words with Mr. Apple himself this recent Saturday night without much fuss, fanfare, or foofaraw (fo’ sho’). Since you won’t be seeing much of it anywhere else, we decided to let our loyal fanbase in on our own little spat via email.

“And with the press of a button, we sue your punk ass.”

Mr. Jobs,
I was watching an iPad commercial during SNL and thought “Man, I’d love to see Betty White getting all freaky deaky on this new bad boy”. What’s the deal? Also, I had to sell a kidney to buy one. Where’s the nearest black market I can hock it? I bet there’s an app for that on the iPad. Catch 22, eh?
-The fellas at Concentrated Awesome

Constipated Sloth-some,
I’ve specifically laid out our products to be “free from porn”. By freedom, I of course mean you pay me more money and it does less. As for your query on the black market, I’m afraid I’m only in the buying vital organs trade, not selling. I got a liver guy though, if you ever need a hook up. You’ll have to excuse the brevity of this email, as I’m currently getting “Mac-head”. And you thought that term was just for Apple enthusiasts.
-Steve Jobs

Steve McQueen,
Damn I need to get me some minions. Hey, ever wonder what life would have been like if you picked up the nickname “Blue” somewhere along the way? People would have to address you as Blue Jobs. Read that really fast. Get it? Ooh, do you have one of those things like in the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where they shrink the chocolate bar and send it over the TV? I bet you do, except it’s in reverse. That’s how you make iPads, right? I cracked the code!
-Concentrated Awesome

Concubine Slalom,
I assure you when developing the next wave of computers our creative team does more than watch hours of classic childhood movies for our ideas like some drug addled miscreant. That’s for our patchouli reeking fanbase to do, while they justify a $1000 computer purchase to write blog posts about poverty in third world nations. We have invented the means by which to dispose of Billy Zabka in all his forms, though, The de-douchefier ray. We tested it out in a Starbucks, closed it down within 10 minutes. Take that, Bill Gates, with your “humanitarian efforts”.
-Steve Jobs

Blue,
I hear you. Hey, I was wondering, when you sent your gestapo (excuse me, iGestapo) out to break down the door of a blogger who “stole your property”, specifically the 4th gen iPhone, did you back them up with S.W.A.T.? You know how those nerds are, all muscle headed roid addicts. Wouldn’t be surprised. Next time, you need to go in all ninja-style and break in yourself. You’ve got the black turtleneck, you’re half way there.
-Concentrated Awesome

Menstruating Talcum,
I know Kung Fu. Fuck Keanu Reeves. We actually do have a new product planned for downloading info directly into your cerebellum. Slight defect, our test subjects have experienced minor headaches, sometimes followed by a few cases of “head asplosion”. You know that fucked up scene in Scanners? Try watching a room of ‘em pop off like firecrackers on the Fourth! Which reminds me, we’re planning to buy that holiday in time for our 4th gen iPhone. We’re hoping to restore your liberties on a monthly subscription plan. This exchange has been fun, but we’re planning on streaking the Microsoft campus, so I must be off.
-SJ