Oil wrestling or mud wrestling? That's really all we need to figure out. I mean, there's an obvious choice, but Bronze skips over that and gets dirty. 

Look, we know it can't be easy to make brass plates in pre-columbian Panama but it feels like Jacob's lack of initiative has been passed on to every one of his descendants. Nephi must have known this and wanted the sweetest gigs for his kids. Be king, young man. Younger brother, uh, how about "Prophet"?

I really want to see these plates. You know the last few pages of Nephi's "small" plates must have had tiny little characters scribbled in the margins, barely legible. I mean I get it. Enos had to choose be hunting, fishing, mud wrestling, or keeping a journal. We all know which of these hobbies had to be tossed aside. Thankfully, like a million people give it absolutely no effort in this book. 

From a narrative perspective, this is genius, if a little lazy. I mean, we went from 122 pages of Nephi to less than a quarter of that for Jacob. Enos can only manage to go for a page before bidding adieu! But this ain't nothing compared to what's next. Get ready for some "I was here, now fuck off" in the book of Jarom.