Y'all might remember my dilemma awhile back about how to get rid of this plastic Jesus statue I "inherited" from my grandfather when I was 5. I put "inherited" in quotes because there was no thought involved on his part. I'm sure grandpa didn't figure I'd walk off with the one thing I was certain no one would wrestle me to the ground over.
TPJ oozes cool. His gang sign tells you he takes shit from no one. He's confident enough in his masculinity that he can wear a dress and dare you to fuck with him. He's a great listener, and he doesn't ask for much in return except for an occasional dusting. He seems much happier since I stopped using him as the boyfriend in my Barbie-Jesus-Jem love triangles. (Don't judge me. Jem was huge, and it was hard finding dolls that didn't look like they were motorboating her.)