Bob knew that this wasn't going to be easy. From the moment he arrived, a little voice in his head kept telling him that he had no right to be here.
Swallowing hard, Bob approached the sad clown and tried to act as though he were not in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffed to a guard. "Krusty, my condolences over your loss."
Before Krusty could reply, an obviously tipsy Sideshow Mel stumbled over, a glass still in his hand.
"So," Mel said in a slurred voice, "THIS is the famous 'Bob' I can never hope to live up to!"
Neither Krusty nor Bob met his eyes, and Bob felt sick when Mel leaned onto him, getting close enough for Bob to smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Don't worry," Mel said, "we all want to kill Krusty."
With that, Mel collapsed, much to Bob's relief. He'd often wondered how Mel survived the indignity of being Krusty's replacement sidekick, but that clearly wasn't a problem for him.
"Sorry about that," Krusty muttered. "Mel likes his 'wowie sauce'."
"...I can tell," said Bob, looking away from his passed-out successor. Bob supposed that he ought to have been proud that Krusty thought highly of him, in his own way, but he only wanted to get out of here more quickly.
Clearing his throat, Bob said, "Well, Krusty, again, my condolences. I'd...I'd better go now."
"Yeah, okay," said Krusty; he'd started on a drink of his own. "Eh."
"That was awkward," said Bob's guard as they walked away.
"Oh, really?" said Bob sarcastically. "I quite failed to notice." He walked a little faster, having noticed the Simpsons among the mourners and not wanting them to see him, especially not the kids.