This is what we killed all those Indians and Mexicans for? What a gyp. The best football team west of the Mississippi is… what? The Chiefs? Maybe the Chargers. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things? The Cardinals are 4-9 and they’re still not mathematically eliminated from the playoffs because they could still technically win the NFC West.

Antonio Gates, Malcom Floyd and Patrick Crayton are all inactive tonight. So if you have Vincent Jackson in fantasy, then congrats, jerk. Marmalard gonna have to carry the team on his back, doh. FOR JESUS MADDEN! Meanwhile, Alex Smith flashed his one allotted glimmer of competency last week, so expect no fewer than five pick-sixes tonight.

Unrelated, but I think this would also be my reaction if I had to view Norv’s crater face from up close. GAH! LASERFACE IS CRIPPLED WITH BY UNSIGHTLINESS!

Hey Fatasspolis, remember when I came into your snack shack and kicked your dumpy dimpled asses back to the discount candy aisle at CVS? You bet I do – had the fellas at the frame store put together a nice photo package together that I keep in my kids’ room to remind them that all of dozen of them were sired by greatness.

Then I got another one done when I shat on Fetusface’s fetus face the next season at home in the playoffs. He remarked to me that my defecation had hints of coriander. I told him I’d be willing to ship him another batch if he ever unglued his mouth from Archie’s shriveled colostomy hole. I’ve yet to hear back.

Now me and Patrick Crayton Manning are gonna have it out again in what will end up being another memorable win for me inside the Hoosier Doucher Dome. People are saying both of us are making the best of loser receivers getting hurt by playing well with a staple of no-name nobodies with no skills. And that’s mostly true – for me. I don’t bother with watching as much tape as Fetushead, which is how I imagine he got all the TV radiation inside his swole head. I did tune in last week and saw him throw a killer pick at the end. That was awesome.

Now I got Vincent Jackoff back and I hope he hasn’t forgot how to get his tall malcontent tongue-waging out of the tunnel face under my epic floats. If not, I’ll just throw it float it to the ragtag group of nobodies I’ve groomed singlehandedly into greats at their position.

San Diego is well on its way to turning another dreadful start into a playoff run that culminates with an underwhelming performance once the postseason actually starts. And that’s good – just enough success to ensure that Norv Turner remains their head coach.

You could tell ESPN was all evening trying out Rivers for the fun-loving Southerner who plays like a kid out there archetype recently made vacant with Brett Favre’s career having sounded the death knell. Every play came with a comment about Rivers’ child-like enthusiasm. Then they actually showed footage from his childhood. Gruden even had Marmalard on the bus teaching him how to trash talk using dopey rhetorical questions to Jaws. I prefer him calling someone a cockwallet then laughing in their face.

Woof. That’s not up to the usual standard of tackling by Bill Parker lawn signs. Maybe we can chalk it up to Rivers’ innate lumbering elusiveness. Or maybe Rivers’ froze him with a icy stare from the Laserface. ESPN wanted to make sure a national audience got an up-close view.

That’s intimidation at its doughiest!

Oh, for the love of all things holy, those San Diego fans purposely dressed up as Na’vi? Inexcusable, though you know San Diego would be unstoppable if the team had a couple 12-foot-tall receivers available to snatch Rivers’ floats.

I don’t get the Devo connection to the Broncos that fattie here is going for, but if the other side’s fans are repping Avatar costumes, I’m willing to let a lot slide.

This rivalry was a lot more entertaining when the Broncos still had Cutlersulker. It also helped when at least one of these teams had a winning record.

The frustrating continued competence of Kyle Orton prevents us from having the two most abstinence friendly quarterbacks in the NFL having a true battle tonight. Tim Tebow did throw his first career touchdown last week in the Broncos ragetrolling of Todd Haley, so that might encourage Josh McDaniels to foolishly try more Tebow passing plays.

The Chargers are without Antonio Gates and Ryan Mathews tonight, but Marmalard does get Malcom Floyd back. Not that it matters all that much, as Rivers and Peyton Manning are squaring off to be the most fluffed quarterbacks in the league this week by dint of succeeding with an array of previously unheard of receivers.

And don’t be a Peter Downer – be sure to check out this morning’s Designed Rush feature.

Norv Turner: Men, I want to compliment you for coming through on Sunday against Tennessee. I know I lost my composure there at halftime, but it’s only because I care passionately about this team and want to see it succeed. I know I’m not typically an outwardly emotional guy and I want you to know it’s not simply because I’m personally invested in seeing this team win because it would prolong my career as a head coach.

No, it’s because I see the potential in you, men. And I know you are capable of more. I feel like I have wasted that potential and owe you better. That’s my reason for the outburst and why I’m so proud that you were able to overcome a huge deficit to get the victory on Sunday. Wins haven’t been easy for us to come by this season, but we haven’t been far off in most of our losses. That’s no solace or excuse, just a fact. Injuries have forced a lot of young players to step up and we’re going to need them to continue to do so until we get back to full strength. As unlikely as it may seem, this season can still be salvaged.

Seyi Ajirotutu: Yeah, man, don’t count us out! We can build on this!

Antonio Gates: Who are you?

Norv: We’ve got another tough game Sunday against Houston. They’ve got one of the more talented offenses in the league, but our defense has shown they have the capability to shut them down. We cut down on the mental errors and the three of four kickoff returns for TDs we give up next week, we can beat anyone. All it takes is one win for us to get the wind to our backs, to make another improbably charge to the playoffs. I think we all know that’s exactly what we got last week.

[Door flies open]

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Following the middling non-failure of last week’s mash-up of NFL pictures with recent memes, we’re going to give another go at fun with Photoshop. This week’s sources of fun will be Philip Rivers Walking Into the Light and — of course — Pigwoman, who was masterfully screencapped by our very own Christmas Ape.

Let’s see what we’ve got.

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I don’t know if you know this, but a lot of football games are not broadcast at actual speed, so as to cram the full action into its advertiser convenient allotted time. We here at KSK have obtained the raw feed of last night’s Chargers-Chiefs game and will show you the altered footage of Philip Rivers’ 3rd down and goal pass on the Chargers final drive, followed by the actual unaltered action. See if you can spot the difference.

Music, of course, is added for effect. And juvenile humor.

Does every Chiefs fan express joy by grabbing the nearest invisible Shake Weight? I’m sure you could get actual ones from Steve Weatherford. He has a few he needs to unload. I will say, though, nice job of getting a middle finger in the long-distance shot of Rivers blown coverage TD pass to Naanee.

Don’t be so glum, guy who looks like Mike Myers in a fat suit playing a Jets fan. Mark Sanchez throws a heck of a checkdown pass. A few more years of seasoning and he might even be as good as Matt Leinart.

Jacqueline liked it better when you just yelled to her to show her tits at Gate D of the old Meadowlands.

And in case you missed it, Marmalard might have thrown his greatest tantrum to date.

The two most hyped teams that aren’t the Packers coming into this season now face off with… I’d say bragging rights on the line, but both of these teams talk massive loads of shit whether they’re actually winning or not. So let’s just say they’re playing to vindicate all the talk we’ve heard about them the last few months.

The Jets, of course, found themselves embroiled in a few scandals this week, one involving an illicit West Coast training exercise that an anonymous team (DEFINITELY NOT THE PATRIOTS) reported to the league and the another in which a TV Azteca reporter said she was sexually harassed by Jets players when she visited a team practice over the weekend. Normally, that might be something to be condemned, but the New York Post said it was all really quite sexy.

And I don’t really have a neat way to segue into this, but reader Adam sent us this nice Suggs bleaching Photoshop and I’d probably be remiss not to include it.

The late game tonight pits the Chiefs against Marmalard and his new non-LaToeInjury running back. It seems like the Chargers play in the late Monday night game on opening week every year, but upon further review it’s only been the last two seasons. Another joke my feeble mind is playing on me. The live blog crew will presumably be covering that one as well, provided they don’t get black out drunk first, naturally.

Having witnesst an exhibition slate markt by anemic haymakers and the stewardship qualities of a syphilite, the Bengali Tygers of Cincinnatus terminated my employment and cast your humble scribe, J.T. of the Fighting O’Sullivans, to the four winds. Fain I would say that I was not deserving of this fate.

Mine has been a peripatetic life. Mother O’Sullivan, may God preserve her ever-lasting soul, said such a quality was unbecoming of any Man not wishing to become a gypsy. Through it brings great shame, I have little choice but to be a Man of No Fixed Locus, roving from town to town in search of work to feed my ever-growing family. This is the plight the Good Lord has seen fit to assign me and I will carry out His wishes with esteem and pugnacity.

In several ways, this change is a mixed blessing. Life in Cincinnatus is best describt as an admixture of grief and more grief. Its citizens lack basic schooling or even rudimentary traits indicating exposure to civilization. Many are content to roam the street gnawing on refuse and rat leavings. And though I have bathed more times than I ever thought possible, I dread I will never remove this town’s odor from my personage. All this is to say nothing of the rampant criminality of the footballing squadron. Taken together, it forced me to excessive drink, which may help explain my disastrous play of late. In the end, however, I can bare a grudge along with my burden. I depart wishing well.

Faretheegood, Bengali Tygers of Cincinnatus. Long will I recall the scattershot and generally mentally incapacitated manner in which you conducted your footballings.

Fortune, it seems, would not allow me to stay downcast for long. Just as I arrivt at the shipping yards intent on getting a scrap ‘n’ a swig, a fellow waylaid me saying that he was a representative of a footballing squadron from the Western Territories: the Equine Lightning Bolts of Spanish Saint Didacus. Immediately, this struck me as glorious news. My greatest acts of footballing to date were done in the Western homosexual colony known as Spanish Saint Francis. I accepted his offer without delay and the next thing I knew, I was in the steerage car of a westbound train trading blows with vagrants whose expressions were not to my liking.

When I alight in Saint Didacus, I discovert the quarterbacking position I was offert was yet another subordinate one. A minor setback, but a Man does he must to earn his daily liquid bread. Just as I playt understudy to Good Sir Palmer in Cincinnatus, I am expected to do the same with the Horse Bolts. Only now I am honort to report that the top quartered back for this squadron comes from regal lineage. Never previously having the privilege to meet royalty, I togged myself in twice-washed pantaloons and my only shirt of complete integrity to report for duty.

Picturet with runner back Darren Sproles.

I must say, though, that royals are of a bizarre sort. Upon greeting, after a curious request to inquire an indeterminate question of an unspecified party, this Man loudly and emphatically demandt that I henceforth refer to him only as King Philip the Laserfacet. One expects a measure of vainglory when dealing with kings and queens, but this was on a level far beyond anything I was prepart for. It was almost as though he were the pagan god of vainglory itself.

He heaved grievous insults at me without provocation. He used profanity that would ruddy the cheeks of even the foulest lout of the shipping yard. He referred to Mother O’Sullivan as a dried out goat’s penis to be hung on the wall of the town’s most filthy tavern and used as target practice for darts.

Few men have spoken of Mother O’Sullivan in such a way and not been rendert unconscious by repeated haymakers. I was readying myself to give satisfaction when King Philip cocked back his arm and released a pass that scudded the heavens for what seemed like days. I could not turn my eyes away from it. I could not tell you exactly how long it stayed in the air, for I passed out from lack of sleep and nourishment before it descendt back to Earth. That is, if it ever did.

It is now that I understand the power from which the crown derives its rule. Heretofore, I thought royalty to be only the product of a corrupt social structure bent on oppressing the Irish. I have been disabused this notion. The king, obscene and full of vainglory he may be, is possesst of a power beyond the reckoning of any of us. I know better than to cross him.

This week, KSK is raising money for Livestrong and the Wounded Warrior Project through Captain Caveman’s participation in Fight Gone Bad. To learn more, click here. To donate, click here.