Knocking out 2 Posts in ONE BIG FELL SWOOP

Post Number 1: Top 3 Pet Peeves of the Month

#3 People Walking in Groups in Tight Spaces and not Moving for Opposing Traffic

Imagine this. You're walking towards the Duffy Academic Building across the bridge in front of the cafeteria, which has the width capacity for probably 2 people.  In front of you, is a group of folks 4 people wide.  As they jut into your walking path, visible annoyance can be seen on the face of your walking opposition.  Instead of being a normal pedestrian, your opponent will not move around to the back of his group, will not arch his shoulders so he narrowly misses yours but will give you some sort of sign of anger.

Because sending the neuron impulse to your legs to move out of my right of way on the bridge, which takes less than a second is too much work.

And people wonder why our country is fat.

(Source)

#2 Over-Zealous Sporting Parents

Have we all seen these people before?  The kind of loud, lazy, and just downright rude individuals that plague sport stands across the world?  Yelling at 4 year old girls to "Get out of the way" because they sat their large immobile asses down in a section of the stands that was heavy in people traffic and was very clearly not going to give a good vantage point in the first place??

These people annoy the good sportsman out of me.  Its nearly impossible not to glare back with visible annoyance as the Sports-Zealot motions at you like a dog to move out of their sight line.  On top of these rude personal interactions, the sports-zealot will curse wildly as their children fails to make a catch or score a point.

"Get your fucking head in the game Emily!!!!"

(Source)

#1 People Who Don't Do the Right Thing When Nobody is Looking

While these people certainly are reserved for the Pet Peeve list, they tend to fall on the wayside of pity rather than hatred.

That's certainly not to say they aren't disliked all the same.

I can't seem to place my finger on it, but you tend to need to have a certain something in order to do the right thing when no-one is looking.

Ah. I remember now. (Source)

Not doing the right thing when no-one is looking but soaking up the glory suds when people are is one thing.  By doing that you are making an insulting mockery out of the exertions of men better than yourself trying to get to the spot you're at and it is an absolute 100% Pet Peeve.  Idly standing by and watching a bus hit those same people while you yourself get away with murder will make me livid and I will remove myself from your presence. 

Some guys out there deserved more than what they got in the end for all of their hard work.

Post Number 2: The Merits of Getting In Trouble

My #1 Pet Peeve brings all of us to Post #2: The Merits of Getting in Trouble.

I originally had a longer post on this, but it just wasn't sounding right at all, so I've cut it down to a skeleton of points for you.

Getting into trouble sucks.  Eating a shit-train full of self-punishment and imposed punishment is not something anyone enjoys.

However:

Getting into trouble is useful.  You learn lessons.  You learn to account for yourself if the carrot being dangled above your head is meaningful enough.  You learn to do whatever it takes (obviously employing sound ethical judgement, one of which is not "being more sneaky") not to fail in the same aspect again.

You learn not to give excuses for yourself and to own up to what you did wrong.  You learn to account for the fact that "Perception is Reality."-->That if you did not do something, but the perception is there, you learn that while you can stand up for yourself and gain a little ground, you'll generally need to swallow your pride and take the hit anyway.


If the price on the line is big enough you'll get a heavy trout of fish-slapping reality brought to the immediate vicinity of your face.

Getting into trouble+trout reference: Check. (Source)

Sometimes it takes getting into trouble in the first place to cut out your bad habits and start to really take responsibility for your actions.

We've all been there, you'll get the automatic embarrassment that comes with getting busted.  Followed immediately by the "well I'll never do that again" message flashing across your brain.

That's not the real lesson though.  What matters is what you do after the fact.

Don't do it again means don't do it again.

You'll be better for it.

Your integrity will be intact.  You have nothing to hide by doing the right thing when no-one is looking.

--FIN--

Who Killed Boxing?

There is a part of our nature that enjoys watching two people beat the crap out of each other. This urge dates back, most notably, to the gladiators in the Roman Coliseum; and even further in untold stories. There is no rational explanation for it. Still, the connecting of fist to flesh forces a reaction; it matters not if we cheer or cringe. No matter how much we suppress the urge to look away, we continue to watch. Watching two people trade blows for hours is as captivating as it is shocking. But in 2012, boxing can't even appeal to that urge.


A generation ago, the sport of boxing was an art form instead of an afterthought. The name Vitali Klitschko would have had fans worshiping the fists that battered his competition. Floyd Mayweather Jr. would have been praised for his undefeated record instead of scorned for what he said about Jeremy Lin. The potential Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao fight in May would be receiving the hype that belongs to the NFL combine. And World Boxing Association commissioner Amir Khan would be the commissioner that we loved to hate instead of David Stern.


Today, boxing is a joke. A sport that has been predominantly banished from the mainstream. A faint shadow of the icons who once stood in its limelight. Long gone are the days of the glorified boxing champion. Muhammad Ali, Evandeer Holyfield, and Sugar Ray Leonard are all distant relics of the sport's past. The distinguished call, "Down goes Frazier!" is no longer synonymous with the knockout of heavyweight lore. And George Foreman is better known for selling grills than his career in the ring.

Surely the dead sport must have a murderer. A perpetrator responsible for taking the life of a sport that turned men into titans. Yet the culprit has not been found. There is not enough proof to convict a single victim. We don't know if boxing's killer acted alone, or if he had accomplices. The case of who killed boxing is so complicated, that both Gill Grissom and Catherine Willows both left C.S.I because they couldn't catch the culprit. Even though there are plenty of suspects.

Some say that mixed martial arts killed boxing in the dinning room with the lead pipe.

There is some reason to suspect mixed martial arts. MMA is the fastest growing sport in the country to date.   The glorified of knockouts that made boxing memorable are combined with the subtly of submissions to produce jaw-dropping fights. Pitting boxing up against MMA is like putting the Nextel walkie talkie phone against an Iphone; both can take punishment, yet the IPhone can do more cool things than just be thrown at a wall and not break. Yet because it has yet to fully mature as a sport, MMA is not the sole killer of boxing.

Others say that the lack of U.S. star power killed boxing in the billiard room with the wrench.

Compared to the days of Ali, Holyfield, Frazier, and Leanord, boxing star power in the U.S. has burned out. The most recent iconic boxer was Mike Tyson; a man who, in his prime, was impetuous, had impregnable defense, and was ferocious. However, to put it kindly, iron Mike fell into the scrap heap of American culture. Tyson's name is like his former sport, once revered, but has since degenerated into a laughing stock. Sure the U.S. has Floyd Mayweather and his undefeated record, yet his struggle for relevance is painfully visible. Also, the heavyweight champion of the world, Vitali Klitschko, is from the Ukraine. No country will care about a sport it stinks in, and the U.S. stinks at boxing now.

Some suspect that the lack of safety killed boxing in the conservatory with the rope.

This theory is plausible, but the evidence is questionable. Of course boxers would have head problems after years worth of punching each other in the head. There is a fine line between safety and sports, and boxing is no more dangerous as the other sports that entertain us. America's favorite sport (football) is a collision sport that produce dozens of concussions a year. The most watched sport in the country (NASCAR) gets its shock value from cartoonish car pileups. Yet the athletes who sign the contracts to fight are knowingly putting themselves in that position despite the risks. That is common sense and a shame. But if they weren't prepared for the consequences, they wouldn't fight in the first place.

Some people claim that Don King and his hair killed boxing in the study with the revolver.

King promoted some of the most prominent fighters in the history of boxing. He paired together the legendary fight between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier for the "Thrilla in Minilla.' King reaped the huge financial gains of Alli v Frazier and went on to promote boxing icons over the course of two decades. The noteworthy names King has built up includes Larry Holmes, Bernard Hopkins, Julio Cesar Chavez, Ricardo Lopez, and plenty more.

But a man who did so much for the sport also soiled his own talent pool, as well as his own good name. Ali, Tyson, Holmes, Terry Norris, Lennox Lewis, and Tim Witherspoon all sued King. Many of these lawsuits were based on claims that King did not pay his athletes enough. King's name was also defaced by two murders. The first in 1954 when he shot Hillary Brown. The second in 1966 when Sam Garret died after a fight with King. The promoter both built up boxing and mutilated its good name simultaneously.

Every one of these suspects has at least one fingerprint on the knife that murdered boxing. All four of the aforementioned suspects belong on the prison line. Yet because of circumstantial evidence, these suspects cannot be held.  And because none of the suspects can be tried, there is no option other than to let them go, much to the chagrin of the grieving people who watched their favorite sport die in cold blood. The Kaiser Soze among the suspects cannot be determined. And just like that, the suspects walk away, and the killer is gone.

Wake Us Up

February 17 was a different day for Tim Wakefield. The Red Sox pitcher took the field in Fort Myers; just like he did every fifth day at Fenway Park for the better part of two decades. Only this time, Wakefield's number 49 jersey was visibly absent. Instead, he was dressed in a suit fitting for a wake. He gave a visibly difficult speech and battled back tears for almost the entire press conference, even cracking just slightly at the hardest part.

When Wakefield announced that he would be retiring from the wonderful game of baseball.

For Wakefield, an announcement that took less than a minute brought back a slew of memories from the past 17 years as a Red Sox pitcher. The knuckleball that baffled opposing hitters. The uplifting feeling of winning a World Series for a franchise that had not won a championship in a lifetime. The dejected emotions that accompanied a terrible pitch in 2003 that landed somewhere in Queens. The culmination of his individual success in a blowout win against the Toronto Blue Jays. These memories were milestones for different reasons, and Wakefield took everything on the field in stride.

There were the first two years of Wakefield's career when he pitched for the Pittsburgh Pirates. The then 25 year old won eight games as a rookie and came in third for the National League rookie of the year. But ask anyone from Kenmore to Revere about what team Wakefield played for and the individual usually ignores the 1992 and 1993 seasons. In terms of legacy, Wakefield will be remembered as a Boston Red Sox.

The 45 year old had a good career with the Red Sox. Wakefield's 186 wins with the Red Sox were the third most in the franchise's history. He struck out 2,046 batters in Beantown. And he threw for over 3,000 innings between stints in the bullpen and starting. His best individual season was in his first year with the Red Sox. Wakefield went 16-8 with a 2.95 earned run average and stuck out 119 batters; and finished third in the AL Cy Young race. Wakefield's numbers were not Hall of Fame worthy by any means, yet he was consistent. He was good to the Red Sox and their fans; who were in turn good to him, even after 2003.

Game 7 of the American League Championship Series was a titanic battle that lasted well past midnight. The Red Sox and Yankees were in Yankee Stadium vying for their shot to go to the World Series. Wakefield came out of the bullpen to pitch in the bottom of the 10th inning. Up to the plate stood Aaron Boone, an average player who was about to have an historic moment for some, and incredibly painful for others. The first knuckleball that Wakefield threw ended the Red Sox season. It was a playoff blunder that was right up there with Bill Buckner and Bucky bleeping Dent; coincidentally Aaron Boone received a distinguished middle name in Boston after that night. Yet the man who threw the pitch was spared the wrath of the (predominantly) Irish. Instead, then manager Grady Little was run out of Boston.

The very next season, Wakefield and the rest of the Boston Red Sox went to the World Series. And the man who pitched in the Red Sox first championship appearance since 1986 was the man who surrendered the historic home run: Wakefield. The knuckleballer did not win that first game, but as usual, he gave his team a chance to win. And win that team did. The 2004 Red Sox will be forever remembered as those who purged the curse of the Bambio, a jinx that had haunted the franchise for the better part of a century. Wakefield may not ever have a plaque in Cooperstown, but his place on that team of lore will never be taken away.

As members of the 04 Red Sox departed for other pastures, Wakefield stayed. Even when his name faded from the rotation in place of younger talent. Even though his knuckleball did not quite knuckle like it used to. Even when the rings stopped comming and a historic collapse this past season, Wakefield was omnipresent in the locker room. And Boston fans, and teammates did not ignore that.

Wakefield's dedication to the Red Sox made career win number 200 all the more special to him. On September 14, in front of the fans that praised and forgave him, Wakefield got the milestone on his eighth try.
The game itself was close throughout and the knuckleballer was far from perfect, but he gave he left the sixth inning with a lead. When he left, the Sox offense proceeded to beat the Blue Jays into submission to give Wakefield the win he deserved.

The news of Wakefield's retirement was a just a passing blip on the national radar, but it mattered in Boston. A player who was never spectacular in anything he did was appreciated for just that. Wakefield never got a former girlfriend pregnant and left her. Or refused to go to the White House because of the way that this country is being run. Or been found guilty of taking steroids. Wakefield was exceptional in the way that he was approachable both on and off the field. Nobody ever had a bad thing to say about Wakefield, even when the rest of the team was in shambles.

As he uttered those difficult words, Wakefield glanced up towards the camera for a second. In that one look, the nation saw, if only for a moment, what Red Sox nation always knew was there. A player who genuinely cared about the team so much it pained him to leave it. The kind of athlete who shared the love that we have for our teams. And a man who, like his signature pitch, was special for being ordinary.

One of the More Depressing Movies One Could Watch On A Friday Night

I've been hearing a lot of acclaim about the Ryan Gosling action-thriller-gangster-film Drive.  Besides my friends (the same friends who said "Dude, fuck 'Fast Five'....let's go see 'Priest' instead") praising the film, Rotten Tomatoes gave it an extremely favorable 93%, while IMDb.com gave it a solid 8.0 out of 10.

Judging from the trailers, I didn't know too much about the film, and had chalked it up to something I may want to view at some point, but I wasn't dying to see. 

Obviously..I'm about to convey to you that I saw it.

And, judging from the title of this post, I'm going to tell you that it was majorly depressing.

Coming back home for a little R&R, I thought I'd sit down with the fam and watch the flick, ya know..to get a little family time in.

I was told ahead of time there was a gruesome scene involving a hammer, but I wasn't expecting to see too much violence from the hands of Mr. Tween Heart-throb himself; Ryan Gosling.

I was, however, proven wrong rather quickly. (Source)

Hollllyyyy Dog Excrement.  

*******************SPOILERS *******************

Friendos, if you want to see a movie with brilliant cinematography, but filled with as much fork eye gouging, kitchen knife throat stabbing, shotgun to the head blasting, straight edge razor artery cutting, boot kicking heads in, and drowning as one can stomach in an extremely slow and drawn out film with as little speaking as humanly possible....then this is the film for you.

I don't know where I stand on the film.  I certainly give Ryan Gosling brass ball points for being a part of this production.  The cinematography does extremely well to show how isolated Gosling, named simply as "Driver", is from the rest of the world.  It is purposefully slow...but a little too slow at certain points.  

Plot wise, Driver does odd jobs here and there, doing car stunt work for movies while on the side working as a getaway driver for shady activity.  The first opening sequence showcases his skills as a driver, which is made even more convincing by Gosling's attitude and style, which rival that of James Dean.

He eventually walks into the life of his neighbor, a married woman, Irene (played by Carey Mulligan), and her young son.  This is obviously the supposed love interest, and Driver becomes close with Irene and her son.  Unfortunately, Irene happens to be married to a fine gentleman getting out of prison.  Lovely.  What else? 

Ah, well said gentleman-husband-friendo owes certain individuals prison protection money. That he cant pay back unless he robs a suspicious pawn shop.  Driver, out of the goodness of his heart, and through the subconscious thoughts of wanting to bang Irene, decides to help prison-man by being his gettaway driver for the job, which he arranges through the extortionists that after said job-Irene's husband will owe no more debt.  A woman, who also owed money, accompanies them on the heist, anndddddddd what do you know--its a set up.

You see, earlier in the film you meet Nino, a Mafiaso working out of pizza parlor. He conspires, without his partner in crime, another gangster named Bernie Rose, to hit a pawn shop being used by "the family" (aka the East Coast Mob) and take their starter money; as they were going to try and set up shop in town/muscle in on Nino and Rose's profits.  Obviously, Irene's husband, the other woman, and unwittingly Driver, were expendable patsies for the job who were supposed to get the money and then be disposed of. 

Irene's husband is shot at the pawn shop, and his woman accomplice is later, (and gruesomely in slow motion) dispatched via the particularly nicety of shotgun-to-side-of-face.

Thus, Driver is pretty much screwed.  He's left over with $1 million that he doesn't want, and which makes him a target.  

Have no fear though.  You saw the photo above, correct?  Gosling is a calm, collective, and fuckingbatshitsociopathiccrazy lethal mute.  The guy, SPOILER, stalks down Nino in a freaking rubber mask, and after scaring the living shit out of the guy, subsequently drowns him in the Ocean.

Yeah. Try to fuck with me.  I dare you. (Source)

This is after he turned a guys face into jelly at the soles of his boots, right in front of Irene.  Did he want to expose to Irene the dark nature of his heart? No. And the cinematography conveys that.  Did he knock the guy out, have a chance to walk away and not repeatedly kick the guy in the head until it caved in?  Yes.  But he didn't.

So not only did Driver inadvertently help to get Irene's husband killed, but he also now has absolutely zero chance of being a part of her life.

I don't want to spoil the end of the movie, partly because I'm still trying to shift through it and see how I feel about it.  I can tell you, that for some of you, the ending of Drive may mirror on the side of No Country for Old Men, in which you stare at the screen for a couple of minutes while the credits roll and quietly say to yourself "what. the. fuck."

All in all, if you don't mind gratuitous and extremely violent imagery, I'd say its worth a shot.  I'm forewarning you though, it is slow.  There's an artistic reasoning behind it, but Gosling practically doesn't speak for a large portion of the movie.  However, the soundtrack is perfect for the film, there's good cinematography, and the acting is great.  It is not, in any way shape or form, an uplifting film.

How would I rate it as of now?

I have no idea.  Good LORD..that movie was depressing.  Not to mention crazy-violent.  At this point...I'd be leaning towards a possible 7 out of 10.

So maybe at the end of it all....you should just go rent a comedy instead.

--FIN--

What Jeremy Lin can Teach us About Success

The story of Jeremy Lin's journey to the NBA is a fascinating read.

Lin went to Harvard until 2010, when he applied for the NBA draft. The point guard did well in his summer league games, yet he went undrafted. He signed with the Golden State Warriors summer league team that same summer, yet he got cut. Lin went on to sign with the Houston Rockets summer league team hoping for better luck than he had in Golden State. But Houston cut him too. After Houston, Lin got picked up by the New York Knicks; his third team in two years. He came off the bench against the Warriors, yet he got sent back down to the D-League. His final stint in the D-League was short lived. Lin got recalled on January 23rd and started his first game against the New Jersey Nets on February 4th.

Injuries reduced the Knicks to Tyson Chandler and four other guys wearing orange and white. The team's disappointment had knocked the wind out of the fanbase. New York's tabloids called for Mike D'antoni's head to be delivered to Time Square and served on a sabrett cart for the fans to devour. Everything about the Knicks appeared to be going wrong.

And then Lin put up 25 points, five rebounds, and seven assists against the Nets in a win.

In Lin's second start, Lin put up 28 points, two rebounds and eight assists in a win against the Utah Jazz.

The next night Lin recorded his first career double double (23 points 10 assists) against the Washington Wizards.

And in a matchup against Kobe Bryant and the vaunted Los Angeles Lakers, Lin put up 38 points, four rebounds, and seven assists.

After just four games, Lin has become the temporary king of a pretty rough sports town. The Knicks have put together a four game winning streak with Chandler, Lin, and three other guys wearing orange and white jerseys. New York's recent run has poll vaulted them into eighth place in the conference ahead of the injury plagued Milwaukee Bucks. Lin's story has become something of an urban legend in the New York media; getting told and retold, each time the storyteller getting just as captivated as the listener. Jeremy Lin's story is far from over, and we don't know if future chapters will be as captivating as this one.

Still, what happens when Lin misses game winning shots? Or his production drops when Carmelo Anthony and Amare Stoudemire come back from injury? Or he gets hurt frequently? Or he announces that he is taking his talents to another team in an hour long television special? Or if he is secretly involved in some kind of illegal underground activity?; such as betting on games he plays in? If two of those things happen at the same time, Lin's success will be forgotten. The city's new found love for him will turn to spite. And the very same architects that built him up will tear him down just as quickly.

Such is the Jekyll and Hyde sports world we live in.

One minute a nice story like Jeremy Lin may blossom into a beautiful flower. The next, the same hand that watched that flower grow could crush it because a few petals fell off. It happened before to countless athletes and will continue to happen long after this generation is gone. It's engraved somewhere within our society to build up the figures that entertain us, pester them until we discover their faults, and hatefully rip them from the very pedestal  that was built for them. Just like the others, Lin's success is primarily defined by the fans who watch him. Good play will shoot him past the moon and up to the stars. A dip in production can quickly turn into a bottomless pit of ridicule and torment. Or in some cases, Lin could simply get shot at the stars and vanish into the vacuum of space.

There are two exceptions to this norm. The rare athlete who never does anything wrong and ultimately rises to immortality and the humpty dumpties. The immortals of the game are the ones that fathers tell their sons about. The athletes who were unconquerable. A group of select few that get awards named after them and their own t.v. specials on anniversaries of their historic events. The humpty dumpties are the stars who rise to the top, fall off the wall, and get put back together again by all the kings horses and all the king's men; the cracks are always there, but they are masked extremely well by their play.

There is no guarantee regarding Lin's future. One thing for certain is that Lin will shed the 'flavor of the month' status and gets categorized. When this will happen we do not yet know; yet the certainty is irrefutable. For now, we can enjoy Jeremy Lin as the nice story that he is and worry about a legacy later.

A Guide for the Rising Star, Written by, and for, Pink Flamingos

Why hello there!

Are you an up and rising entrepreneur?  A go-get-'em, headstrong individual?  A fledgling soon to be the next big thing looking to get to the top?

Well you've come to the right place friendo!  This special post is reserved for you!

The purpose of this post is to go over all the dirty deets of how you can rise to the top of your organization, whether it be sports, clubs, or just society in general!

We'll be covering such topics as how to:

• Step on your peer's toes as much as possible!
• Let others fall under the bus that you were driving in the first place and don't take any responsibility for your own actions!
• Don't do what you're supposed to when no-one is looking and be a poster-child when the right people are nearby!
• In general, fail the golden rule and look out solely for yourself!

Step #1 Getting Theatrical

(Source)

Friendos, we all have flaws.  Whether it be something as trivial as procrastination or as extreme as getting into a habit of napping on toilets in between classes, the key to rising to the top is to cover up these flaws when the important folks in your life aren't looking. 

Yes that's right folks.  Success doesn't come from merit or hard work set in a teamwork mentality!  Success, for the purpose of this post, will now be spelled with an "I".

Siccess, as we like to call it, can never be shared with anyone but yourself.  Don't get cocky though, for it is certainly not passed around ladies and gents.  That's why it is important to Get theatrical and create the perfect persona which will be used around the right crowd.  

This one usually suffices (Source).

Now what's important to remember is that you have to be aware that this persona has the probability to get on several of your peers' nerves and you may be seen as stepping on people's toes.

The obvious reaction, and only reaction one can have in these situations of constructive criticism from your "teammates" (although we prefer the term "insignificant ants") is an over the top and exaggerated defensive nature.

Example:

Team Player:  "Bro that was kind of lame that you were making us look bad by charging ahead and leaving us in the dust when we had waited for you before we left." 

Pink Flamingo:  "So what if you waited for me while I got my shit together in the morning and came down late!  What matters is that as soon as I was in sight of someone important you should have anticipated that I was going to charge ahead so it looked like I was the most highspeed of the group and making a point to get there first!"

Step #2 Never Take Responsibility for Yourself

Fellow Flamingos, one of the most important steps one can take from this simple guide is that you should never, ever, ever, EVER, take responsibility for yourself.  It is much better for you to cover up your wrong doing than it is to come clean with the authority figures in your life.  It's also usually more beneficial for you to coast by on the backs of some of your more honorable teammates, who you know will stick their neck out for you.  

When this occurs, you must not falter in never paying them back.

Example:

TP: Hey do think you could stop playing Hall Sports since the rest of us have really been busting our asses not to play any as of late and said you had nothing to do with the last hall sporting mishap??

PF: Yeah of course dude don't worry about!!!  Oh by the way I'm stuffing our room with hall sporting equipment, plan on chair jousting later tonight, and I may or may not stand up for you and state you had no part of my shenanigans if I end up getting busted...

TP: .....Why..?

PF:

Leading us to....

Step #3 Use The Status You've Gained Through Doing the Right Thing Only when People were Looking, to Get Away with doing the Wrong Thing When Nobody Is

It's important to maintain the image that you are, in fact, an angelic choir boy as seen in Figure 1A.

Figure 1A (Source)

If you can pass off looking like an angel period (Fig. 1B), then 10 points will be awarded to Gryffindor immediately.

Figure 1B (Source)

Getting back on topic, the point of this step is that you need to consistently look like Figure 1A and 1B rather than Figure 2 as seen below.

Figure 2 aka a dunce (Source).

Note, when we say consistently look like Figures 1A and 1B, we simply mean when someone is looking.  When nobody is around, it is perfectly acceptable to act like a total douche and thus insult the efforts of your peers around you who attempting to get to the level that you currently inhabit. 

Of course, as a Flamingo you realize they'll never get to the plane you live on because they are real people who take responsibility for themselves rather than handing out free bus tours that have a nasty knack of hitting people and running them over. 

If you don't have a single visible smear on your person, but several significant skeletons in your closet: You're following this step correctly.

Step #4 Culminate all of these Steps into Becoming the Most Efficient Pink Flamingo Ever!!!

Alright gents, if you can commit to memory these easy steps and bullet notes, you will be on your way to becoming the best Pink Flamingo ever!!!

Keep on PFing fellow Flamingos!

You'll go places!!

Your peers on the other hand...

....Might get screwed over (Source)

--FIN--

Why It Has Been Downright Impossible to think of a Post Lately.

THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF BOOK READINGS

I'll try to come up with something soon ladies and gents.  But this semester is RIDICULOUS in terms of book readings.