Flaps...
I don't think I could have stuck it out (ooo-err!) on Pprune for three and a half years as a self-confessed Qwerty Gerty without having a certain horniness (will you stop that?) about my epidermis.
And anyway, the day pilots stop complaining vigorously about journos, managers, engineers, passengers, other pilots, furriners, Northerners, Southerners and anything else that happens to have rubbed them up the wrong way of late... well, that'll be one of the signs of the End Times, right there.
Now and again, though, it's worth pointing out mildly that things are somewhat more complex than may appear to the apoplectic.
R