Allow me to introduce you to Muscle Jesus.
Or at least, that's how Lennon has always referred to him since we inexplicably found him in my brother's room about two years ago.
However, the days of Muscle Jesus might be coming to an end. We were cleaning her room, and just for kicks, I held him up and asked her, in my best Muscle Jesus voice (it's meant to sound like a cross between Randy Savage and Ghandi, but it comes out a lot more like Louis Armstrong), "Hey Lennon, what's my name?"
And she looked at Muscle Jesus, and she looked at me, and she said with a hint of exasperation, "That's a wrestler. Please put him away."
Dear Muscle Jesus,
I am thankful for my many blessings. Forgive me my trespasses and any illegal holds/maneuvers. If it's your will, please make Lennon stop being so grown-uppy and smart, and give me just a few more years of things like Muscle Jesus. Also, world peace and Slim Jims. Amen.
