First-person Bob point-of-view.
Damn you, Bart Simpson. I cannot get you out of my head. Every morning when I open my eyes, I remember that it is your fault that I'm a prisoner. Every night, I dream of stabbing you, of watching that insufferable smirk disappear from your smug little face as you die.
The tattoo on my chest is a perpetual reminder of how I almost succeeded in killing you. But you used my love of Gilbert and Sullivan against me to keep yourself alive. Now I can't even hum a melody from the HMS Pinafore without thinking of you.
If you'd just moved on with your life and found another mind-rotting program to watch, I would still be the host of my Cavalcade of Whimsy, and I would never have known you existed.
You turned me into a monster, Bart Simpson.
This is all because of you.
I vow to utterly destroy you.