I'm Late.

I'm late.

Of course. What was I thinking? Trying to make a delivery for the ACME Corporation, in the middle of a desert, miles from anywhere, when my tire decides to give up on life. I pull the truck to a stop on the side of a dusty, endless road, step out, and confirm what I already know, the back left tire is flatter than a pancake in a steamroller factory. Oh Geez, now I’m starting to sound like Yosemite Sam.

I groan and kick the tire, which only succeeds in making my foot hurt. Since this is an ACME shipment, bound for none other than Yosemite Sam himself, I’m hauling an assortment of questionable merchandise: Portable Holes, Self-Sealing Super Glue, Jet-Powered Roller Skates, a crate of oversized rubber bands, and—of course—several ACME-brand rockets. Rummaging through the cargo, I start looking for anything that might work as a replacement.

None of this is even remotely useful for fixing a flat. But if I don’t get this delivery to Sam on time, he’s liable to fire me, and that short-tempered mustache with a hat is not the kind of boss you want to disappoint; he might use actual guns to do the firing. I glance around, wipe the sweat off my forehead, and consider my options.

Desperation kicks in. I grab a handful of the oversized rubber bands and start wrapping them around the wheel rim. It takes effort, and I snap myself in the face twice, but eventually, I manage to create a makeshift tire. I step back, admiring my handiwork.

It’s at this moment I wonder if maybe I might have made a mistake. After all ACME’s products work, but either too well or in an unexpected way. I’ve never met Mr. Coyote, so I shouldn’t have any of his bad luck with me. Still… it is Acme.

As soon as I release the truck from the jack, the tension in the rubber bands sends the whole vehicle bouncing like Sammy the squirrel, sipping Java, after finishing a monster drink. I dive for the driver’s seat as the truck takes off, hopping wildly down the road, gaining speed with each bounce.

At this rate, I might actually make it to Sam’s on time… assuming I don’t crash into a canyon first.

I’m gripping the steering wheel with one hand, trying to steer this bouncing monster truck as it leaps down the road like a pogo stick on steroids. I glance in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see a dust cloud following me. The rubber bands are holding, but it’s only a matter of time before they snap, or worse, get caught on something.

And of course… that happens. Right as I take a sharp turn to avoid a rock, the rubber bands catch on to something, something shiny, something... suspiciously like the remnants of Wile E. Coyote's latest failed invention.

I look over in horror as the rubber bands latch onto what looks like an old ACME slingshot, wedged in the road. The thing is enormous, made of thick steel wire and stretched tighter than a drum. It had to be some kind of trap, something Wile E. was probably setting up to launch himself into the air, likely for some ill-fated attempt at catching the road runner.

Before I can even think about how to avoid it, the tension in the rubber bands snaps the truck into full slingshot mode. The truck catapults backward, launching me through the air like an ACME-brand missile, heading straight back in the direction I came from.

In a matter of seconds, I’m airborne, the truck’s wheels spinning wildly, and all I can do is brace for impact. The dust cloud that had once swallowed me is now chasing me, and I’m hurtling back toward the scene of the flat tire—like some kind of ACME boomerang.

Great. Just great.

I gently open the driver’s door, hoping it doesn’t fall off, and exit the truck, I know I’m not getting anywhere fast and sadly, given the situation, I’m not all that surprised. I’ve got to think of something, and fast.

Then I spot it, one of the ACME rockets. It’s sitting right there in the back, nestled between the self-sealing super glue and a portable hole, just begging to be used. And honestly, why not? Things are already a disaster, and if I don’t get to Yosemite Sam’s by the end of the day, he’s going to fire me for sure. No one gets a second chance with that guy, especially when rockets are involved.

I grab the rocket, pop the safety cap off, and strap it onto the back of the truck. “Time to go super-fast or go home,” I mutter, strapping myself back into the driver’s seat.

I light the fuse and wait, bracing myself.

For a split second, everything seems normal. The rocket gives a satisfying little whirr—and then BOOM! The force of the rocket slams me into the back of my seat. The truck shoots forward like a bullet, and I barely hold on as it rockets down the road, picking up speed like a runaway freight train.

But… this is ACME, right?

And as soon as I reach the top of the next hill, I feel the truck lifting off the ground. The rocket’s not pushing me forward anymore; it’s lifting me into the air like some kind of deranged hot air balloon.

“NO NO NO!” I shout, my hands fumbling for the controls. But it’s too late. The truck is airborne, wheels spinning in the air like a carnival ride gone wrong. I can see the whole desert below me, shrinking as I rise higher and higher.

The rockets’ sole purpose seems to consist of launching me—and my now badly battered truck—straight up, like a missile aimed at an uncertain target.

Strangely enough, that target turns out to be Yosemite Sam’s front yard.

The rocket sputtered and died as the fuel ran out and I suddenly found myself plummeting like a stone. Dropped through the air, as it whistled past my ears, my stomach flipping, I suddenly crashed, violently into Sam’s lawn. The truck hit with a heavy thud, parts flying in all directions like confetti, wheels mangled, and the back end completely wrecked.

For a moment, all is quiet.

I crawl out of the truck, covered in dust and debris and patted myself down. Flexing my back, I reach back into the truck and pull out the receipt pad, glancing up at a very irate Yosemite Sam, standing on his porch, mustache twitching with fury, I hand him the pad to sign.

“Well,” I mutter, dusting myself off, “delivery complete.”

Yosemite Sam glares down at me, looking like he’s about to explode. I glance at the wreckage behind me, then back at him.

"Don't even say it," I say, and to my surprise, I’m actually a little proud of myself.