Paging ACME...

The motel where I grew up had a street at the front and twenty miles of desert in the back, and as such, we were overrun with pests. But this plague was not in the form of roaches, or bedbugs, or mice, or rats, or louses, or waterbugs, or silverfish.

It was roadrunners.

Being the state bird of New Mexico, you would think this nimble and noble fowl would conduct itself in a dignified manner. But here is what the roadrunners would do at our motel, several times a week:

They would come in off the desert, wander into one of the rooms whose doors were left open by the maid for airing out, hop up on the bed, poop, and leave.

Where's a coyote on a rocket sled when you need one?