Bones The English Butler apparently doesn’t know how to wear pants that fit. Or shoes. But he’s a good servant. He puts up with a lot.
“Bones, come here. I need you!”
“How may I be of help sir?”
“You can start by wearing a proper shirt that will cover your ribs. There’s a good man. And for good sake’s chap, must your free hand always be in the position of catching a high five from behind, while it is down low because I’m too slow? Straighten up and get me a brandy so I can stand the sight of you. And get that murder out of your eye sockets.”
“Death sir…”
“What was that?”
“Yes sir!”
“Quite. Quite.”
