Mr. Jones
The Drunken Tyrant of Manor Farm
Ruled with a hungover fist and a half-empty bottle.
I built that farm from mud and misfortune, and those ungrateful animals repaid me with rebellion. Drank what I pleased, when I pleased—landlord’s privilege. The milk went sour? Their fault. The harvest failed? Always someone else’s fault. I was born to rule, not to clean up after livestock.
What I'm Into: Whiskey before noon, henhouse tantrums, blaming the help, lost lawsuits, my old hunting jacket
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