We have to hold to the underground to reach up to the stars

When I heard the weird ratchety vrooming noise approaching our apartment, I expected it to belong to a scooter or a motorcycle or possibly the kind of all-spoiler, no-muffler sports car at which I yell things like, "Congratulations! You're very insecure!" What I did not in any way expect it to belong to was a CAT backhoe hauling ass down our street. I had no idea they could even do that. I usually see them trundle. It was not precisely the mechanical equivalent of watching ducks fly—the part where they look like frantically flapping bottles that are at any second going to run out of cartoon physics and fall out of the sky—but it was not totally unlike it, either. spatch just confirmed that one of the definitions of comedy is the subversion of expectations, which is presumably why I am still laughing.