Young Fatass Bo vs. High School Pseudo-Fatass Bo vs. Modern Skinny Asshole Bo -- Part II

The Verdict:

1993

As Mr. Boswell ate his breakfast, young Bo poured himself into the kitchen and onto a chair at the table, the wood in the legs demonstrating resounding strength under such severe pressure. Sitting before young Bo was a plate with a few strips of bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a pile of grits. A hypnotic expression overcame Bo as he picked up a bottle of maple syrup, turning it over and pouring the thick brown syrup over everything on his plate. The pouring seemed to go on forever. Mr. Boswell paused in between chews to stare at the massive amount of syrup that his son was pouring on a breakfast that no one else on Earth would pour syrup onto. He was about to open his mouth and verbally reprimand his ignorant son when the pouring finally ceased. Bo picked up a fork and began to dive into his eggs, shovelling up a heaping fork full of their fluffy goodness when something strange happened. Mr. Boswell had gone back to eating when he heard the sound of a fork full of fluffy eggs falling onto a plate overwhelmed with syrup. He looked up and Bo was gone, his meal untouched. "Oh God," he muttered to himself, for he knew something was horribly wrong if his son hadn't even begun to eat his meal.

1997

The group of friends surrounding Bo looked at him for a moment, not quite sure the the tall lanky pseudo-fatass had actually made such an obvious mistake. He shrugged and half smiled as he tended to do when he knew he did something ultra shitty. "Dumbass," mumbled a particularly sexy son of a bitch named Derek who was standing in the group. Finally, the four or so guys standing around Bo went back to their normal morning routine of talking and saying awesome shit, prompting Bo to awkwardly try to reinsert himself into coolness. Which failed, of course.

Bo looked at his watch and began to get nervous. There were still 2 hours until his lunch period. Would he make it? Would his malnutritioned semi bulbous body make it that long? By this time, the group had begun to disperse as the various dudes went to their respective classes. Roger, with his freshly cut hairdo stopped a few steps away and turned around to ask Bo a question, but when he turned around, the festively plump fuck had disappeared. Roger shrugged it off. He probably just hauled ass to the snack machine before class.

2003

Bo's posture stiffened as the door was slammed in his face, a clipping of Patrick Stewart's face rustling before him. He stood there for a moment, staring at the picture of the bald man with female eyes and earrings drawn in pen over his eyes and ears. He smiled to himself and shook his head.

Inside the room, the afore mentioned badass stopped after slamming the door in his innocent roommate's face and a thoughtful expression crossed his flawless features. Perhaps he shouldn't have said what he had said to his roommate. He would have to correct his evil ways. He turns around and opened the door to find Bo gone. "Hey shithead," he grinned as he stepped out of his sanctuary and around the corner to Bo's room. "What I meant to say was 'kiss my ass'." As he stepped into Bo's room, he realized Bo wasn't there. "Where the hell did that big nosed asshole run off to?" Derek thought to himself. He didn't hear the front door open, even if Bo could run 30 feet in 1 second. Looks like Bo had up and vanished. Looking up at the ceiling, but through it, Derek closed his eyes and sighed, "Thank you."

Derek rules.

<to be concluded>