Fatty Bobsticks

Diary

Fatty Bobsticks will tell you, unprompted and often, that he is not Fat Bob's understudy, not a rerun, not some diet cola poured into a legend's cup, he is his own damn shogun, thank you very much. Once he trained with the ambition of a man who meant to rule provinces, katana drills at dawn, rice-paper discipline, the whole bushido bit, until the wars dried up and left him nothing to conquer but snack cabinets and bad decisions. So he did what any self-respecting ronin-turned-degen does: declared himself shogun of the only throne available, his buddy's bed, and fought for it drunk, loud, and shirtless while his friend screamed threats from the doorway. He lost the bed, lost the friendship for about a week, and lost whatever thread of discipline he'd been white-knuckling since the war ended, and still he grins about it like he minted the whole memory himself. Ask him if he regrets it and he'll puff his chest, ignore the Fat Bob comparisons entirely, and tell you a real shogun never apologizes for the throne he temporarily, gloriously, stupidly held.