Tag Archives: Batman

Alfred!

I’ve always wanted to read a comic book that’s just about Alfred, Batman’s butler. It could be called Alfred. And it wouldn’t have to have anything to do with crime fighting or mysteries. I’m not trying to make Alfred something he’s not. No, it would just be stories about him, taking care of Batman’s mansion, following the exploits of his managerial duties around the house. He’d have to get dinner ready. He’d have to make sure that Batman’s Batman costume was dry-cleaned. You might think that this would be a pretty boring comic book. Right? But it wouldn’t be.

Take Batman’s dry-cleaning for example. It sounds super lame, right? Wrong. Where do you think Alfred might take the bat suit to get dry-cleaned? Maybe if I brought a Batman costume to my local dry-cleaner one time, they might think, OK, he went to a costume party, he spent a lot of money getting a really professionally made Batman costume. Great. But what if I started bringing like two or three of them in to get cleaned every week? What if I started bringing them in and they’re all covered in blood and sewer water and poison gas? Don’t you think the dry-cleaning guy would figure it out after a week or two? He’d say to himself, this guy is totally Batman. But wait a second, he’d think, that doesn’t make any sense, because this guy’s all old and British and he has a pencil-thin mustache. So he must be Batman’s dry-cleaner. Let’s call up the Riddler and see how much this information is worth.

Alfred wouldn’t have any choice but to buy, install, and figure out how to operate his own personal dry-cleaning machine. That’s really not as easy as it sounds. You’re dealing with some serious chemicals. Did you know that they use like formaldehyde and stuff? That’s a carcinogen. Alfred is literally putting his life on the life for the sake of keeping Batman somewhat clean. I think I’ve just written the first three issues right there.

You might think that, seeing as how Alfred has to go above and beyond the call of duty of a regular butler, Batman might cut him some slack here and there. “Hey Alfred,” Batman might say, and Alfred would respond, “Yes, Master Bruce?” “You know what Alfred? Forget about wearing that tux all the time. You work really, really hard. Just wear whatever you feel like wearing, whatever’s comfortable.” And Alfred would be caught off guard, surprised. “Th-thank you Master Bruce. As you wish Master Bruce.” “And another thing,” Batman would continue, “Enough with the whole ‘Master Bruce’ business. How long have we known each other? You practically raised me. You’ve been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad. Just call me Bruce. Or Batman. But not when company’s around. Then just stick to Bruce.” And Alfred would be practically choking up at this point, totally unable to hold back the tears of pure joy welling up in his eyes. This would all be covered in issues four through six.

“Thank you sir! I mean … Bruce. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have a genuine moment like this with you.” Alfred would start pouring his soul out to Batman. But just then a portal through space-time would rip open right besides Alfred and Batman. And it would be a cyborg robot Alfred from a parallel universe. He would come in, guns a-blazing, making this big dramatic speech about how on his world, Batman was a total dick, never giving Alfred any respect, and so this Alfred became a complete villain. On his world, he killed his Batman for treating him no better than a doormat. But it wasn’t enough. Now he travels across the multiverse killing every Batman he can find. And it’s up to our Alfred to figure out a way to stop him.

That would be issues seven through twelve. I know, I told you that the whole series wouldn’t be about anything heroic, just Alfred and his household duties. But by issue three, I’m sure the fans would have said to themselves, what the hell? Seriously? A comic book about just a butler? That’s so, so lame. I’m never even going to think about buying this piece of trash ever again.

And the publishers will get the message. Sales will be at an all time low. By the time issue five hits the stands, they’ll have ordered me to switch up the stories, make them more about superheroes and supervillains. But I’ll protest. “Don’t you remember our plan? Only butler stories!” And the publisher will say, “If you can’t write these stories, we’ll find someone who can!” And I won’t have a choice.

But by the time I reboot the series, it will be too late. The fans will never give it a second chance. They’ll print up to issue twelve and call it a wrap. After a year or so, they’ll package all twelve issues together in a hardcover and call it a graphic novel. Maybe somebody in the TV biz will buy the rights, and they’ll come up with a TV show, also called Alfred. And the theme song will be almost identical to the 1960s Batman TV show:

Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Na na na na na na na na na na na na na Alfred!

This post is super good

For most of my life now, I’ve been preoccupied with a certain question: if I could have one super power, what would it be? This question is inherently difficult because there is always the argument over what constitutes just one super power. You might think it would be enough to say, “I’d choose the powers of Superman,” but what is Superman if not just a collection of various super powers? There’s the flying, the super strength, the ice breath. It’s a total copout. And that’s why Superman is just this huge loser. And that’s why all of the Superman movies are terrible. What about Spider-Man? He’s definitely got a lot going on, Spidey-Sense, wall-crawling, he’s kind of strong. But in this case I don’t think it would be fair to be limited to choosing just one of his kind of mediocre powers.

I think that in Spider-Man’s case, you could argue that his one power is a collection of weird spider-like attributes. All of his powers together make him a little more super than the rest of us. But then again, you have Superman, where any one of his powers would usually merit their own superhero. It’s obviously just a little too much. So when choosing super powers, I’m going to argue that it has to be something less than a god, but obviously more than a human. If you, after reading what you’ve read so far, say to yourself, “well I’ll just pick Batman, he’s pretty cool” then the joke’s on you, because Batman doesn’t have any powers. And if you really said that to yourself, and really didn’t know that Batman doesn’t have any powers, then something is wrong with you, because what, you’ve never seen a Batman TV show or one of the very successful Batman movies? Actually, Batman is super rich, which sounds about as realistic of a super power as any other.

My approach to the super power question has evolved as I’ve grown up. When I was little, it was enough for me to read Spider-Man comics and then wish that I could be Spider-Man. But he’s been around since the sixties, and after spending nearly two decades of my life following his many adventures, I’m just not sure that Spider-Man’s powers would be compatible with the kind of lifestyle I’m used to. Even if I were smart enough to invent my own web shooters, for example, which I’m not, I doubt that I’d have the balls to use them to jump off of tall buildings and swing around the city. What if I missed? I’d be dead. Maybe I’d sneak out of the second story of my house every now and then, but I probably wouldn’t, because there is absolutely no reason to. I’d most likely be more comfortable using the front door.

Now that I think about it, most of your classic super powers seem kind of just a little too much for what I would want in my life. I wouldn’t be able to pick anything too dramatic. What would happen if the media got wind of some guy that could suddenly fly or run at super speeds? The government would have that person confiscated and dissected very quickly. If I can fly, what am I supposed to do, fly away from a government fighter jet sent out to bring me in? I would need super speed on top of the flying, which would technically be picking two powers, which I already labeled as copping out. Also, if you could fly, and you didn’t have super strength, wouldn’t you have to keep yourself in ridiculous shape just to be able to go any significant distance? It’s like, everyone can run, but for how long can they keep it up? It has to be the same with flying. It just sounds like way too much work.

And then I think about the super powers that you could keep hidden, like mind reading, or invisibility. But I think that these powers would just suck the humanity out of me. If I could read everyone’s thoughts, I might not like what I’d hear. And unless I saw every movie or TV show before anyone else, I’d constantly have the endings of everything just totally ruined. And even if nobody saw anything before me, there would always be the chance that I’d run into one of the show’s writers, and then not only would that season be ruined, but all the potential ideas for any future stories would also be prematurely revealed. In the case of invisibility, I think that would turn anyone into a huge creep, because wouldn’t you have to be naked all the time? There are no easy answers here.

I think that what I’d like best is a really obscure kind of super power, one that would grab everyone’s attention as it was happening, but afterwards, everyone would just be kind of like, “eh, I’m over it.” I think I’d have to pick as my super power the ability to win at rocks-paper-scissors every single time. It’s the perfect supernatural gift for where I’m at in life right now. Just think about how many ridiculous chores or arguments I could completely avoid. “I don’t feel like taking out the trash either. Rocks-paper-scissor you for it?” And I can’t think of anything else I’d like to do more than to go out to a bar with a group of people and, after we’ve all had way too much to drink, making the announcement that I cannot be beat in rocks-paper-scissors. Everyone would object, thinking that I’m full of shit, and people would start lining up to prove me wrong. I wonder how many rounds I’d have to play before a hush would fall the entire bar, people slowly gathering around to see me beat the odds every single time, over and over and over again, and eventually someone starts clapping, until the whole place is going nuts and lifting me up on a chair parading me around the room chanting, “Rob! Rob! Rob!”