In the dark cell, Bob sighed. All the good he'd done had been a wasted effort, thanks to that moronic police chief.
Cecil was sleeping more peacefully than Bob had expected. Bob himself had been quite on edge during his first night in prison. Then again, Cecil was sharing a cell with his big brother, so that may have made him feel more at ease. There'd been another time, long ago, that Bob had looked down on his little brother from the top bunk, but the peace and protectiveness that he'd felt back then was now loathing and resentment.
Bob had wanted to believe that Cecil was willing to make up with him, and had hoped to become "Bob Terwilliger" again, a refined nobody and a proud conservative Republican.
Bob felt pathetic. He could barely remember what he'd done before becoming Krusty's sidekick. It seemed such a long time ago now, far longer than ten years since upstaging his brother's audition. Krusty had hired him for his dignity, but that certainly did not survive long. Bob had attempted to resurrect it, but he might have simply shoved more nails into its coffin.
Robert Underdunk Terwilliger was gone. Sideshow Bob, the abused second banana with the ridiculous grass skirt and slide whistle, was gone. All that remained was Sideshow Bob, the villain who failed at everything, even when he was making an effort to be good. For the rest of his life, he would likely be trapped in the role of villain, as so many actors were imprisoned by typecasting.
He could live with that. Why not embrace that role, if it was his fate to be in it?