Well, I can see it now: some scrappy young woman yells a string of colorful insults at the richest man in town. He just fans himself with a hundred-dollar bill and drawls, "My money, my choice." It’s a scene fit for the Gilded Age, only played out in 2025 fashion. All the cuss words in the West won’t pry a penny from a miser’s pocket if he hasn’t a mind to give. But at least she’s given his ego a few scorch marks to remember.