Inspired by "Treehouse of Horror XXVI", so maybe a little more twisted than earlier chapters.
Bob yawned as he skimmed through the next insipid, poorly written paper; writing big red "F"'s had now become a reflex. Bart's corpse was propped up in a chair in front of Bob's desk, the boy's eyes as blank as those of Bob's students. He'd never thought it possible for idiots to be accepted into college. Then again, Springfield University was no Yale; it probably wasn't even on par with most community colleges.
"Would you believe that so many emoticons were used in this one?" Bob said to Bart, holding up the paper. "Not to mention the misspellings, grammatical errors, and text speak." Bob flexed his cramped fingers and glared at the stack of failed papers. "If any of those website parasites lived anywhere else, they wouldn't have been accepted to middle school, let alone university."
Bob tossed the paper aside and slumped backward into his chair. He imagined the dismay and disbelief that would appear on his students' smug faces come Monday, but that was nothing compared to his past fantasies of how terrified Bart would look when Bob killed him. The real moment of Bart's demise had not quite lived up to those fantasies, nor had teaching. Bob had expected at least one sharp knife in a drawer full of dull blades, but perhaps he'd expected too much. He could almost fill a tiny void growing in his already blackened soul. Often, when Bob's mother had finished a production, she would complain about feeling a void. Acting was one of her few, if not only, passions. Nothing excited her more than being onstage, before an adoring crowd.
Bob recalled how much Bart had appeared to enjoy his one-man performance of HMS Pinafore. Bob had to grudgingly admit that the boy's quick thinking and ability to appeal to one's ego were admirable. The void in Bob grew a little more, and he went to his refrigerator to fetch the small bottle of Bart's blood that he had saved. He drank three-quarters of the bottle in one gulp, mimicking what his mother sometimes did with sherry, and mentally declared his void to be temporarily filled.