It will work this time. It has to.

I have spent the better part of 19 hours crafting this mural on bedrock, and 3 full days before that laying pavement redirecting the winding desert road so it ends abruptly, at the foot of my masterpiece. A rock wall painted to look like a tunnel. An optical illusion. A way out. But there is no way out of here. My name is Wile E Coyote and I am so fucking hungry, inexplicably stuck in this lifeless desert. My only companion? - a mindless blue bird whom I am forever doomed to chase, to whom all laws of the universe bend and then break. This is my existence. Compulsively ordering one ridiculous contraption after another even though I am on to the people at ACME; I know you are fucking with me. I am hours of flight suits, or a working magnet, or a lit wick short of supper. And I deserve it. I left my imprint all over this desert. Ive been pancaked, incinerated, run over, diced and buried. Ive accepted my failure with only simple signs pulled from invisible back pockets begging for your empathy as if it will cushion what comes next. And whoever fancies himself my maker was cruel enough to imbue upon me the knowledge of how things are supposed to be. Rockets fire upon ignition. Rocks roll when the pull is great enough against them. The trajectory of catapults is not arbitrary. Predators. Catch. Prey. Can you imagine how it feels? Your best laid plans crumbling around you. Peering into the mouth of fate only to have it blow up in your face. Its enough to make you wonder: if its better to be a perfect physical specimen than it is to be bright, if all the time you spent lost in thought has been a waste, when all along its been easier to just run. Im a super genius and I cant capture a flightless bird who grins as I drool for his flesh. I keep at it, as if the next bow will fire the arrow instead of me, as if the poison birdseed will somehow end up in his mouth instead of mine. It is the curse of an addict to chase the thing that destroys you. But until youve done it, until youve launched yourself off a thousand foot cliffs for the thing you love, you will never understand the gravity of my plight. THIS IS IT, the culmination of my mania. This fake fucking tunnel is the best I can do. And when the dust settles I will stand firmly on red sand, his broken blue neck clenched between my teeth. This time it will work. It has to.