If there was a magazine called Butler Monthly, Alfred would grace the cover at least every three months. No one else really competes. He’s timeless, effective, and integral to his employer’s existence. If Bruce Wayne wasn’t coming home to Alfred, he would live a pretty pitiful existence. Alfred has been Bruce Wayne’s servant since time immemorial, and with the loss of Wayne’s parents, Alfred has grown his responsibilities to include those of a father and therapist.
In fact, Batman’s line of work is so dangerous that Alfred may want to have the unpleasant discussion of being included in the Wayne estate, or at the very least hiring a butler assistant.
Also, when you name your kid Alfred Pennyworth, you’re pretty much charting his career path before he’s born. I wouldn’t expect to see many “Alfred Pennyworth”s playing in the NBA, but I sure as hell expect them to answer the door when a guest calls.
Alfred: I suppose they’ll lock me up as well. As your accomplice…
Bruce Wayne: Accomplice? I’m going to tell them the whole thing was your idea.
This is an instance in which devotion to the subject’s employer goes from professional to romantic. Which isn’t really all that big an issue if you’re able to keep the wolves at bay like Mr. C. Montgomery Burns is. Waylon Smithers runs the show, managing Burns’ day-to-day tasks as well as the ins and outs of the power plant, down to recognizing all the drones in sector 7G and all the other sectors, from Homer Simpson to Pops Freshenmeyer.
Mr. Burns (laughing): Sorry, I was just thinking of something funny Smithers did today.
Smithers: I didn’t do anything funny, sir.
Mr. Burns: Shut up!
We don’t know a lot about Cosmo. In fact, you might not even know who Cosmo is. Cosmo is the mute, nubile Asian boy who ambles aimlessly through the house of wealthy drug do-er Rahad Jackson, lighting fireworks and…tossing them.
One can assume that Cosmo serves as some sort of houseboy, though I’m not entirely sure what a houseboy does. I’m guessing a houseboy does the sex. He’ll do the sex for males or females, but beyond that, I’m not sure if he’s around to braid his employer’s hair, walk the dogs, or do a sexy dance to Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies.”
Anyway, for just wandering around, all creepy as hell, and sporting the curiously anglicized name “Cosmo,” he makes the list.
Not applicable. Cosmo doesn’t speak.