is "A Wholly-Owned Subsidiary Of Roadrunner Corporation.”
We never see each week the forty hours of Coyote sitting in his cubicle
in order to mail his paycheck to get some contraption that
in order to mail his paycheck to get some contraption that
invariably blows up in his face.
Maybe Wile E.’s name isn't so ironic.
Perhaps he's well-aware the Roadrunner makes a living off him, and
it’s
some sort of co-dependent victim thing: Coyote wants Roadrunner
gone, but
Coyote needs Roadrunner to beep-beep in his face,
to have something to chase. Maybe he’s grown attached to
the feel of wheels falling off his skates,
the rapidly approaching lip of the cliff,
the rocket boosters’ malfunction
that scorches his backside bald.
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