Vengeance
by Phil Temples
“Ka-Bloooooommm!”
The sound of the blast from
the Acme Super Deluxe Bomb was deafening. The
bomb went off in Wile E. Coyote’s hands
seconds after he had picked it up.
He had placed it next to a
crudely marked sign that read “BERD FEED”
but the bomb failed to detonate when Roadrunner
stopped to eat. As Roadrunner sped away, Coyote
came out from behind the large rock where he had
been hiding to see what caused the malfunction.
At that moment, the Acme device chose to explode.
When the smoke finally cleared, Coyote had been
reduced to a charred, smoking fur ball. Per the
script, Coyote blinked then he held a blank
expression of resignation and defeat for about
five seconds.
“CUT! That’s a
wrap. Good job, everyone,” cried the
director through his bullhorn. “We’ll
pick up tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock sharp.”
Coyote muttered a few
obscenities under his breath as he brushed the
soot from his body. Although he considered
himself a professional, the stunts were taking
their toll on Coyote—both physically and
emotionally. Day in and day out, the typecast
villain found himself outfoxed by the feathered
hero. Kids and adults of all ages loved the show.
Wile E. Coyote was beginning to loathe it despite
his multi-million dollar contract.
“This is getting
really old,” he thought. Especially
since everyone knew that Roadrunner was an idiot
who possessed a brain the size of a peanut.
I’m the real star
on this show.
Coyote asked himself why he
put up with it. He didn’t see Goofy or
Mickey or Bugs stooping to such indignities. Sure,
they took the occasional hard fall during a stunt.
But it wasn’t at all like the constant
harassment and humiliation that he had to endure.
I need a new contract.
Actually--Coyote
corrected himself--I need a new agent.
The following day brought
no more relief in sight for Wile E. Coyote. An
Acme safe was dropped on his head––he
took a fall off a steep cliff––and
Coyote had a headlong encounter in the tunnel
with a speeding freight train—all before
lunch. Coyote was in an ugly mood.
‘Beep, beep,’
my ass!
Coyote stewed about his
dilemma all the way to the dressing room trailer.
He would figure out a way to send this bug-eating,
two-bit geek from the traveling circus packing if
it was the last thing he would do. Finally, he
figured it out. It wasn’t that Coyote needed
a new contract or a new agent. No, what he needed
were real weapons that would work—not the
phony-baloney Acme props.
“Hello, Raytheon?
Yes, I’d like to order one of those Massive
Ordnance Air Burst thingies. Can you deliver it
by next week? That’s great. Yes ... Uh-huh
... Send it to Studio 1-C, Hollywood, California,
attention ‘Mister Coyote’… Oh, and
would you throw in a few anti-personnel mines and
some cluster bombs, too?”
Vengeance is mine,
thought Wile E., as he set about baking a
mealworm pie as a gift for his soon-to-be former
co-star.
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