Does this make me Beavis or Butthead?

When I got to work this morning, the crew who is working on our roof had parked one of their big ol’ roof-reaching-and-working-on machines at the end of the parking lot. And the name printed on said machine, in big, bold text for all the world to read?


And I’ve been giggling about it all day.

Apparently, my exhaustion has turned my brain into an eleven-year-old boy.


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