The Nation of the Glorious Turnip

I knew a bully once, a big fat mean bully who was twice the size of me. He became a rich man, made his money in all sorts of businesses. The most notable business was stealing from the rich and giving to it to himself. He had one problem though. It wasn't that he was fat, or that he lacked a proper brain. No his problem was that he didn't understand himself. He forgot why he became a bully in the first place. It was because he didn't have any friends. Now that he was rich he had friends, or so he thought. Good friends don't rat you out to your enemies. Good friends don't help burying you alive in a cornfield. But his friends did, and that was the end of the bully. He thought he could buy friendship, but the only thing it got him was a closer look at dirt.

As far as I know, he is still buried there. It's a persistent rumour that buried with him is the key to a bank safety deposit box. A box that is filled with diamonds. You'll probably wonder why the men that buried him didn't dig him up and took the key? It is because I killed every last one of them. I Hunted them down and shot them all in the neck with a magnum .45, my signature kill. They are all dead, I am the only one who knows where he is buried. I don't want his diamonds, I want him to stay buried forever. He needs to be forgotten. I was the only man he could trust. And I will make sure it stays that way.

(all of that as an introduction, just so I can show a little picture of a real bully. )