Wile E. Coyote.

Listen, bud, I know what it’s like to chase the same thing over and over again. I know what it’s like to run off a cliff. I know what it’s like not to let something go. Wile, have you tried Zoloft? There are pills for this kind of thing, take it from someone who’s refolded her own t-shirts seventeen times and who keeps bumping into the same questions, the same walls, the same no’s. 

I got lastima for you, sweet coyote, for how often you fall a thousand feet or get smushed between rocks or race through a desert with your tongue hanging out, because you think you’re getting close. You’re not getting close, in fact. You’re not going to catch him. You’re supposed to be the bad guy, I think, but I appreciate your perseverance and determination too much not to root for you. 

I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll have a little talking to with Road Runner. Maybe ask Double R to tap into a bit of lastima himself, to animate his heart, and to just stop. To stop being such a dick. To stop showing off his lean legs and marathon stamina and how clever he is in that head full of feathers and ideas. I’ll threaten him, that’s what I’ll do. To make him let you win one time. I’ll scream, “Just once, RR! Give him ONE!” And I’ll get up in his beak when I say it. When I’m done with that bird, he’s gonna throw you a bone.

Because we’ve all got a touch of the OCD when it comes to a dream, and sometimes I want to give up. Yes. We’re not all so brave as to play with dynamite and ignore a giant ACME sign, which some might call stupid, but I call courage. Wile, you choose getting burned over quitting. And that inspires me to want to stand up again. So look behind you, pal, you’ve got a friend on the trail. And we can’t do it alone. I just know one day we’ll be clinking our Prozacs and laughing, as we celebrate our triumph.

p.s. Is Road Runner STICKING HIS TONGUE OUT at him in this picture? So help me…