I, in no way, own these characters or any allusions made. Hope you enjoy.

Ch. 1: Guilt, My Anti-Drug

Revenge. It sounds so ridiculous now, but seemed all too glamorous in the beginning.

Robert was a tall, skinny man, with unimaginable hair of red dreadlocks. His head resembled a palm tree with a yellow trunk and big, red leaves. He was witty and eloquent, despite his occasional bumbling when he was overcome with rage. He was agile and nimble, educated and sophisticated, but unfortunately uncontrollably malevolent. He dressed as a common man that evening, simple business shirt and black pants, much preferred over the orange jumpsuit.

Normally, when let out of prison, yet again, he would immediately pursue this sweet revenge. But his mind became so jumbled recently, he slowed down to think about his priorities and not a complex scheme for a certain little boy's demise. What did the boy do, exactly? He strained to sort out. The child simply wanted to clear the name of his hero, putting the true villain in jail. Robert dwelled on this, decided that he was a true tragic hero, and Bart Simpson wasn't completely to blame. Bart didn't deserve to die for doing what was right, nor did he deserve to be tormented with death threats from a crazy man. Bob would apologize, but it wouldn't clear anything. Mistrust will exist between these two forever.

As for Robert's own tormentor, Krusty the Klown, they have since settled their differences. Krusty had admitted that he was sorry for abusing Bob, and Bob in turn forgave him, then quickly apologized for trying to kill him on multiple occasions. They were almost regarded as friends, but with such different levels of intelligence, it's highly unlikely the two would be seen together keeping up a friendly conversation. That exchange of forgiveness was yet another reason to leave Bart alone, the original cause of their quarrel settled, so why, even after the apologies, did Bob go after him AGAIN?! Bob mentally slapped himself. Why couldn't he have let the defeat go by, instead of humiliating himself further with more failures?

Insanity.

After the incident at the funeral home, trying to cremate Bart alive, Robert officially went insane. Led back to prison, along with his close family, he was finally strapped in a straight jacket to giggle like an idiot as he thought of ways for Bart to perish slowly and painfully. At that moment he was unable to realize that he had dragged his family down with him with his evil plots, cursing them with shame and jail time. Even his poor son Gino was fitted for a prison uniform, having nothing directly to do with this specific case of attempted murder, and only a baby! The warden eventually realized this, and ordered that the child go to a foster home for the time being, his father still babbling incoherently, unable to say his farewell. Separation from her baby destroyed Robert's wife Francesca who, along with Dame Judith Underdunk (Robert's mother), were sent to a women's prison. Knowing that keeping them together would risk them conspiring together, Robert's father and brother Cecil were placed in separate cells, maybe even separate prisons. Robert was never informed.

After being prescribed a few drugs Robert's head started to clear, a little too late. It was a little too late for a lot of things. True, he hated himself for never saying goodbye to his beloved family, but it would have been pleasant if his insanity was controlled before this nightmare ever began. Guilt finally settled in. He had messed up so many lives, not just his own. What he would give for a redo, and never try to murder that innocent boy!

Wishing for the forgiveness of his family, of the world, but knowing he may never receive it, he then became depressed. The idea of revenge faded away like a stranger strolling out of sight down a foggy street. He sought genuine redemption. He dreamt of living happily with his wife and son, but telling himself it was a mere dream made him sink deeper in his funk. He was losing hope of happiness, which caught the eye of the state (whatever it may be).

Then prescribed for dementia and depression, Robert was thought unfit to stay in prison. He was moved to an asylum for a time, a long time, because he refused to take anything for depression at first. He claimed he deserved it, for causing all this grief. He pleaded on several occasions to speak with any member of his family, even Cecil! But his request was denied, which of course didn't help. After several interrogations about his motives for the world, every one of his doctors was convinced that he had abandoned any goals for revenge on Bart Simpson and/or Krusty the Klown. A few thought it was too much a risk to make him a free man, knowing every single time he was given to opportunity to do evil, he took it. However, when looking into his watery, black eyes, all such notions were put aside. Robert vowed to wait for his family and not feel any form of joy until they were reunited. Surely if he could be released so many times, even escape the death penalty, they could be released as well.

So, released once again, he spent most of his miserable time at a bar called Moe's. He didn't drink that much, just felt close at home to be with the company of creatures almost as sorry as he. Other drunks would recognize him from the many headlines involving the words "homicidal maniac" and scoot their seats away, to which Sideshow Bob didn't pay much mind, too involved in his own abysmal thoughts.

The police kept a close eye on him, since being fooled by his charm so many times, they were no longer willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The Simpson parents were warned that Bob was free once again, but they failed to talk about it with their son. Bart didn't need to be haunted by nightmares, so they simply gave hints to never walk alone or talk to strangers. Being a regular customer at Moe's, Homer Simpson would see Robert frequently, but never built up the rage/courage to yell at his face. Homer would certainly be justified to, but instead he chose to glare and give the expression that he will be watching Bob, and that the clown shouldn't try anything funny.

As his lanky body slumped over that dirty, bar counter, sitting on an uncomfortable stool, Robert Underdunk Terwilliger thought back to his childhood, wondering if he ever once considered to grow up to be a villain. He couldn't recall. He also couldn't remember a moment he dreamt of becoming a TV clown, but he supposed he only took such a position because the opportunity presented itself. The profession sounded glamorous as well, brightening the faces of children and, his own venture, molding their minds into those of intellectuals. Unfortunately it was nothing like he imagined. His suffering was used for other's enjoyment, something anyone would grow to hate. Perhaps that's why he chose revenge, the opportunity presented itself, and just like his career choice, it ruined his life. If only, if only, he thought. If only he never took that job, would he be despised by his brother? Would he have a criminal record miles long? Would he be such a wreck?

On that fateful night, someone finally decided to talk to Robert, becoming the first man he would be willing to call chum in quite some time. Whether it was pity or fascination, he couldn't tell at the time, Robert was relieved to have someone to talk to, his self loathing getting old fairly fast.

"Ya know, I see ya here all the time, but ya never drink anything." The man slurred. He wore a wrinkled white business shirt, khaki pants, and a ragged brown coat. He needed new shoes and a bath, and his roughed up brown hair could use a comb. "And you look like you need a drink." He slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder, putting some money on the table.

"You're too kind, but no thank you." Robert replied politely, but the man shook his head and hands.

"Nah, I insist. I got money to spend. Hey everybody! A round a drinks on me! Hic!" the stranger's offer was met with a roar of approval from his fellow drunks.

Robert would have made a sarcastic comment with better suggestions to spend said money on, but he could tell by the look on this man's face he wouldn't have given up. Best not to embarrass him and take the offer.

But after that drink came another, then another, then another. They just kept coming. Each one Bob tried to decline, but each one was easier to accept. The man must have spent three hundred dollars on drinks for the whole bar. Bob will never know he's a fun drunk, but he will feel great disappointment for temporarily abandoning his sincere, dignified mentality. He spun, he danced, he nearly killed himself trying to do the back flips he was so used to performing with the greatest of ease, but what was the most impressive stunt was his gift of a voice. With his lead the entire tavern broke into song, Robert the only one to not sing off key or mix up any lyrics, even in his stupor.

xXx

Robert awoke in the early morning, a dim sunrise enough to make his tired eyes ache.

"Blasted liquor." He grumbled, the sound of his scratchy voice hurting his delicate ears. "What was I thinking?" He tried to rub his temples, but he ended up smacking his head with a strange, yet familiar object he held tightly in his right hand. "Agh! What is this?" He squinted angrily in his blurry vision to make out the picture, then his eyes went wide as he dropped the pistol like it was on fire.

He spun around frantically and scanned his surroundings. He had passed out in the foliage next to the parking lot of a bank, a few scattered bills fluttering around his large feet. Dreading to think about what he may have done with the firearm he had withdrawn from, he fled the scene of the crime.

"There he is!" An unseen woman screamed with terror, and a few heads turned toward the blur she pointed out.

"Wasn't he running that way?" called out a bystander, pointing in the opposite direction at another similar blur.

"Satan's toenail!" Robert exclaimed. "What the hell is going on?"

Bob gasped but dared not to look back and just kept running, until he concealed himself in the unguaranteed safety of a wooded area.