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Bud Wyler, weathered by 63 years of life, wore his age like a tattered coat. His gray beard and bushy eyebrows framed a face etched with experience. Despite his hobo appearance, he considered himself a sage—a man who once charmed the ladies with his silver tongue.

Undereducated but not lacking insight, Bud recalled a literary gem he read in school: “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.” And throughout his life, he found this to be dead-on accurate. Scorned women were dangerous and unpredictable.

Bud tried imparting his wisdom about women to his young nephew, but the boy’s fixation on breasts and curves dismissed the sage advice. “Playing with these crazy young gals! That’s go’ be yo’ downfall one day.”


“Yeah, Unc’, you just don’ have my mackin’ skills.”

Hell Hath No Fury

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