Bob said that last thing a little too loudly, waking up Snake. He groaned and sat up in his bunk.
"Dude, pipe down! I've got a parole hearing tomorrow!"
"My apologies," Bob mumbled, not looking up from his notebook.
Snake looked over the side of his bunk to get a better view of what Bob was doing, and he shook his head.
"Bob, dude, don't tell me you're writing in that thing again!"
Bob glared up at his cellmate. "What's wrong with that? I've even taken your advice and used a pen this time."
Snake rolled his eyes. "You're obsessed with that little Bart dude, and everybody here thinks it's getting totally old."
"I don't care."
Snake ignored him. "That time when you cut off your face was gross-"
"You weren't even here when I did that!"
"I still hear stuff," said Snake. "And, that fake funeral deal had more holes than the plot of that Jodie Foster movie where she's on the plane."
Bob clenched his teeth. "Don't ever mention either of those subjects in front of me again. Besides, you shouldn't be preaching to me about being obsessed. Need I remind you of all the times that you've robbed the Kwik-E-Mart?"
For a moment, Snake was at a loss for words. "Well," he said finally, "at least I've got a life outside!"
Bob decided not to respond to that, as, deep down, he knew that Snake had a point. Snake had a girlfriend and a little boy to see when he was out of prison, while Bob didn't even know the whereabouts of his family.
With a sudden burst of anger, Bob threw his notebook at the wall. When it bounced off and dropped to the floor, it was left open at the very last page, where a gruesome, but childish, drawing of Bart dying was taped to the back cover.