The coyote is a lost soul, forever damned to a meaningless chase in a landscape of indifference.

He stands before a rock wall where he has painted a vision of paradise at the end of a tunnel. He reaches out, but his paw strikes only the harsh, unyielding rock of reality.

Moments ago, the Road Runner appeared and, with a casual, indifferent grace, sprinted into the painting. The bird vanished into a dream that the coyote is forbidden from entering. Meep... meep...

Then comes a package from ACME. Inside the box lies a single pistol. The coyote lifts the weapon, spins the chamber, and raises it to his temple with a pained sigh of relief.

Tears flow down his face like waterfalls of sorrow. He stands now at the veil of this world. No more failures. This is how the coyote wins: he simply refuses to play this cruel, twisted game.

He pulls the trigger. Nothing.

The coyote opens one eye to find a tiny, mocking flag that reads "BANG!" He remains paralyzed by the absurdity of his own existence, knowing that in this vast, echoing wasteland, the only thing more certain than hunger is the cruelty of the joke.