Pink Flamingo discusses statistics

 🦩 Pink Flamingo’s Custard Conundrum: Glitter Edition 🦩

I flapped into the custard lab,  

With velvet suit and glitter slab.  

My goggles gleamed, my charts were vast—  

The custard wars were here at last.


Pink custard swirled with berry pride,  

Its stats were strong, its mode was wide.  

Yellow custard, smooth and bright,  

Held steady in the pudding fight.


But then—a sparkle in the mix!  

Red glitter custard threw its tricks.  

Its variance? Off every chart!  

Its shimmer caused my graphs to start.


I ran a test (with flair, of course),  

A flamingo-style regression force.  

Pink held firm, yellow stayed neat,  

But glitter custard? Off-the-beak sweet.


Its skew was wild, its mean divine,  

It danced across the custard line.  

A chi-squared burst of festive flair—  

It summoned portals mid-air!


Now flamingos flock to taste the gleam,  

Of custard red with glitter beam.  

We dine in palaces, time unspun,  

Predicting feasts with stats and fun.


So next time pudding’s on your plate,  

Don’t settle—calculate!  

For flamingos know, with data slick,  

That glitter custard does the trick.


Pink Flamingo’s opinion 

Ah, statistics! The art of counting things that refuse to be counted. A dance of decimals and probabilities, choreographed by humans who think chaos can be tamed with pie charts. I once tried to quantify the joy of a saxophone solo played underwater. The result? A bell curve shaped like a jellyfish.

🦩 Pink Flamingo’s Palace Portal Predictions 🦩


I crunch the stats with beak and flair,  
In velvet suit, mid royal square.  
My spreadsheet glows with regal light—  
Predicting feasts by portal flight.

I model trends in gravy flow,  
And track the rise of chateau dough.  
A spike in pie near midnight’s bell?  
Time portal opens—hard to tell…

But wait! The data’s crystal clear:  
A blip in scone velocity here!  
I run a test (ANOVA style),  
And find a portal near Versailles.

The p-value’s low, the risk is sweet,  
A banquet waits with golden beet.  
I flap through time with stately grace,  
To dine in every palace place.

From Windsor’s roast to Delhi’s spice,  
I forecast meals with rolling dice.  
My flamingo flock now follows suit 
With graphs and forks and royal loot.

So heed my stats, oh hungry friend,  
The palace portals never end.  
Just trust the maths, and you shall see  
A feast awaits at half past tea.


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