"The Simpsons" is property of Matt Groening and Twentieth Century Fox.

Back when Bob was still Krusty the Clown's sidekick, his favourite time of day was around six o'clock, when he came home after the show. It was the longest amount of time before he had to return to the studio and be humiliated on live television, as well as watch the rotting of the unfortunate young minds in the audience as they laughed at Krusty's inane antics. Bob always book-ended his day by making his favourite comfort foods, peppermint tea and toast with marmalade, and then sitting down to listen to classical music and read The Springfield Review of Books. About twice a week, he would talk to at least one of his parents on the phone, which he sometimes dreaded almost as much as having to go back to Krusty's studio; they kept badgering him to make amends with Cecil, especially his mother, Judith.

One morning, Bob was about to have his breakfast, and then a shower (he always did those two things in that order, to get his strength up for the grueling couple of hours required to thoroughly wash, dry, and comb his huge red hair), when he was interrupted by the ringing of his telephone.

Bob glanced at his clock; the time was twenty-eight minutes after seven.

"Mother, we've discussed this," he muttered aloud, glaring at the phone. "Half past seven exactly."

The phone kept on ringing.

"I'm not awake yet, Mother," Bob said through clenched teeth. He waited another thirty seconds or so, then reluctantly picked up the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"Hello, Robert, darling. How are you?" Bob could picture his mother, Dame Judith Underdunk-Terwilliger, sitting primly in a silk kimono or chiffon peignoir on the velvet settee in the Capital City penthouse that she shared with Bob's father, and Bob was grateful that his mother could not see him with disheveled hair and wearing nothing but a purple bathrobe and boxers.

"Still the punching bag of an illiterate, chain-smoking clown. And no, I don't want to talk to or about Cecil. " In last year's obligatory Christmas card to his brother, Bob had questioned Cecil on whether he had ever actually watched The Krusty the Clown Show at any point during the past decade or so, he would realize that being Krusty's sidekick was an unenviable position.

"I merely called to give you some advice, darling," said Judith, "but if you don't want it..."

"I do!" said Bob, a little louder than he'd intended. "Please tell me, Mother!"

"Did I ever tell you about the first play in which I starred?" Judith asked.

" Romeo and Juliet, was it not?"

"Yes, but I did not immediately get the role of Juliet. Despite doing swimmingly at my audition, the director believed that I did not have the right look for the part." Bob could easily imagine his mother looking into her gilded hand mirror and staring ruefully at the bizarre hair that Bob, and to a lesser extent, Cecil, had inherited from her. "I did, however, become the understudy to the actress playing Juliet. That was not good enough for me, so I had to resort to some...underhanded means to get what I wanted."

"What did you do?"

"Shortly after production began, many of the props and a gold watch that the director considered to be his good luck charm went missing, and-"

"You stole them, didn't you?"

Judith was briefly silent. "...Yes. I planted all of the stolen items in the leading lady's dressing room, she was arrested, and I was able to play Juliet. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, darling?"

Bob's eyes were resting on the poster of Krusty the Clown at which he sometimes threw darts. "Yes, Mother, I believe so. Thank you very much."