The two Jehovah’s Witnesses that always come to my door are alarmingly buff. Like, muscles-straining-through-their-white-dress-shirts buff. I don’t even have a joke to make about this, guys. I just feel like you should know that I am plagued by these righteously jacked proselytizers and that, for whatever reason, I’m constantly running into them at the grocery store and they always ask me how my cat is doing. It’s really somethin’.