this made me want to read the post, but it is too long.
The rants herein are worth the read. However, we ARE still waiting on @MalcolmReynolds to make a decent rant 
In the spirit of Gordon Ramseys Hellsā kitchen - or your chosen cooking show of choice - my round up so far is as follows.
First rant: inventive/funny language + 1. Insights + 1. Unkindness towards the kids - 1/4 point.
Second rant: funny/inventive language + 1. Insights + 1. No weak points, this would go down in a five star diner / forum!
Third rant: Insights + 1 Encouraging AhDohGah -1/4. Lack of hilarity relative to the opening and main course -1/4
This brings your total to 4.25 points if my math is correct.
Congratulations you are through to the next round and still in the running to becoming Formsamosaās next master poster / pastry chef!
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you criticized the fat kid but u still let him push infront of you. i find the staff in 7 11 are usually pretty good with serving the persons whoās turn it is. iāve had people try to push in a few times and the staff served me, which was pretty nice.
as for the kids here, yea they are kind of spoilt. i would say the young generation of taiwanese (in their 20ās or younger) are pretty coddled.
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@geajvop What have you against me, dare I ask? My anecdotes/rants may appeal to some readers. Now my feelings are hurt!
tis but a jest!
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Ay, takes but a jest to ire me sensitive spirit. But, truthfully, in terms of a true ārantā I agree that reference to other posters pretty much spoils the vibe, am I right? I take it not personally, but in the gaeity in which it was intended (ę±ę±)
Iād like your post but I am put off by the hearts, yikesā¦
Iāll read your rant now and let you know if you qualify for the next round
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@jinyu Poster did explain that he (?) gave a knowing glance to the cashier to let the brood through, despite the rude behavior.
I also agree with @BHL4life that the convenience clerks in Taiwan have super skills at serving the person who arrived first and provide (unnecessary) polite apologies for waits. I couldnāt do it. Iād have the good old āęéā shout in the back of my mind. How these lovely clerks greet me by name, know my work, know my preferences, etc., itās amazing. I love them and also call them by name.
Iāve never encountered the horrible costumer behavior that @jinyu encountered, but think most of our young clerks wouldnāt know how to deal with it. I feel, fortunately or not, I might have blamed those kids in the same way @jinyu did, but in Taiwanese.
Letās continueā¦
ååļ¼ force of habit. The hearts are those of appreciation, as my mobile lacks expressive emogi appropriate to the occasion. (personal reveal: both emogi were from my ācommonly usedā pane, including 
.) You should thank God that you didnāt get a LINE sticker from me. It might make you throw up!
P.S. My rants are not nearly on the same level as @jinyu . I havenāt much to rant about. Sorry if you wasted your time reading (itās also likely to be riddled with errors)
Dear Adogah
The judges have tasted both of your rants and the outcome is as follows
Rant one:
Novel use of coat hangers +1
Offending the feelings of the Chinese - not to mention Taiwanese - people ā 1
Friendly disposition and self deprecation +1
Overall: the crĆØme brule was both over and undercooked, you can do better
Rant two:
Choice of ingredients (ATM burly guy, Can you speak English foreigner and pack of nipping mutts) +1
Quotation and intertextuality with previous poster ā 1 (remember in a bizarre rant you should be going off on one with little reference to your textual surroundings, not building coherence in a conversation, this is a slip up)
Overall you have not fully engaged in this cooking challenge, yet. However after careful consideration the judges all agree that you can improve and have the potential to create truly bizarre and lengthy rants that would leave all shaking their heads and looking at the sky in disbelief.
Therefore, congratulations, you are through to the next round and still in the running to becoming Formuosaās next top ranter!
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yea i mean, he criticized the fat little shit but he still let him continue his bad behavior. if he made the little kim jon un son wait his turn it would have been a better move.
Hey! Iām the other guy! Iāve never offended obese kids, since my BMI is off the charts.
I can confirm thatās itās coming. Give me a couple days to gather my thoughts. Iām a bit intimidated by the level of quality by the OP in this rant!
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Me and you both! Eloquent S.O.B. right!?
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Iām also tempted to participate, but I donāt think Iād be competitive.
Though it would be safer to cook from the sidelines.
OK here goes:
Friend chicken supper, once upon a time in GuƩret, Kentucky
Well says I where did you get them birds? In the forest says he. Did you see the traps that Hubert has? I didnāt says I. Traps them alive and all they will make great eating, lovely cooked in blood says he. Oh Jesus stop says I. Have you any of that rice wine? Only the fermented stuff says he. Sure thatās rotten says I. It would put an awful head up on you. Sure nobody said you had to buy it says he. All right so give me one bottle says I. 50 says he. 50 Says I??. Aye says he.
Maaaaaa, Maaaaaa, she shouts from the third floor. Maammoo. Maammoo!
Maās gone to work, he echoes from the street below.
Gone to work!? She reprises from the third floor, What about meā¦?
I stop listening.
The bedroom door bursts open.
Get out of bed she shouts itās time for breakfast. Eat the pappardelle ragazzo, they will put hairs on your chest, you will never grow up if you donāt eat the pappardelle boy!
I begin to tackle the overwhelmingly large bowl of pappardelle. I drink the straight to hangover fermented rice wine, hot from a little kettle and poured into a plastic cup, life could not possibly be better.
He has a gun in his wooden hut up on the hill and dresses as a soldier. He has a metal military commemoration plate nailed above the door and a panoramic and timeless view over the valley. He sets off a half stick of dynamite that blows a hole in the front garden as a token to welcome us. He has memories of animals that are all gone from the woods. In his day there were no bicycles. He is from before that. To have a bicycle was as unthinkable to him then as having a Boeing 747 would be to my humble self today. He hardly raises an eyebrow to meet his progeny of three generations. Haps he has lost track of his grandchildren, or perhaps he does not react with excitement to anything at all, which would be understandable at his age.
A woman smacks a child with a twig and it - boy or girl? - takes offense. No one has looked at me or asked me for my story. A man hands me a cigarette. I smoke it. She looks at me disapprovingly and then resigns. I will have to give up again upon my return. This is a wonderful place. Life could not possibly be better.
The chicken is dead now and being plucked by her mother. No doubt it will taste very nice indeed. The little one is confused and callså°ęÆéø”? å°ęÆéø”?
She pats her/hisās headå°ęÆéø”ēäøäøč¢«ä½ åå
He leans back on the porch and begins to sing
ālittle birdie little birdie
Sing to me your song
Sing it now while I am with you
For I wonāt be with you longā
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āGeajvop, loved (and was suitably disturbed by) your chicken story. William Faulkner, eat your heart out!
āMy impression was that the guy at the port was trying to sarcastically insinuate that Western men in Taiwan are all out to hook up with lots of local girls, and that the insult to Taiwanese women was just collateral damage. But who knows.
āI posted a rant and suggested that no one read it and implied that I was not altogether sane. Now my posts are being given scores by fastidious judges. Oh, boy!
āIāve also experienced cashiers in Taiwan not allowing people to push in front of me. But this case was a little surreal ā a Ģ¶fĢ¶aĢ¶tĢ¶ big-boned boy and a little girl and two weird dogs out-of-control buying armfuls of snacks in the wee hours of the morning with no adult in sight. I wouldāve been scarcely less surprised if instead of little Kim Jong-un big Kim Jong-un himself had pushed in front of me and told the cashier to Ģ¶nĢ¶uĢ¶kĢ¶e microwave his kimchi. I probably wouldāve let him, too.
Alright, the nails. Iām guessing that for all you metrosexual expats living it up in swank cosmopolitan Taipei, fab nails are de rigeur . But in my case, living in eel-land, they require some explaining. Iād agreed to help a friend for a couple of days whoād opened a beauty salon on the mainland. The deal was that I would be pampered like a poodle and stuffed full of food. In return I had only to give the salon a certain cachet of foreign je ne sais quoi by pretending to be co-owner and prancing about in front of the clients like some kind of beauty guru, supervising the staff (noo Tiffany, how many times do I have to remind you, pastels are out this season). My one and only experience moonlighting as a fashionista failed miserably, and in spite of my unctuous small talk and poofter posturing (excusez my French, LGBT friends, mwah-mwah), I didnāt sell a single damn loyalty card to a single damn äŗ儶.
Luckily my visit had one other reason (or raison as we like to say in eel-land) giving me a last chance to redeem myself. The poor defenceless women in the salon needed a chivalrous knight in shining armour like me to step in and help them in their turf warz wit da local squatters on the salon steps. When these good āol boys werenāt gambling or engaged in contests of projectile expectoration, they stripped to the waist and lolled about like lethargic monkeys, sunning themselves along the salonās glass frontage and getting a good squiz up the skirts of the well-heeled clientele who sometimes had to step over them to get in. They acted as if theyād been there since before the cultural revolution and aināt no one was gonna ęé· their asses. When I cautiously suggested that they might conceivably consider relocating a few metres north, their look of withering disdain (not one of them deigned to acknowledge my existence with so much as a word) at this pasty-faced pansy blow-in was priceless. Never did a roman patrician look down the length of his aquiline nose from the height of his elevated couch at a slave-boy below holding a platter of grapes with such serene contempt. Guess I really showed them, huh. After this failed attempt at negotiation, the girls resorted to guerrilla attacks on stilettos with strategically misdirected effusions of a pedicure water.
Thus when I ascended the gangway onto the boat in Xiamen, I had disgracefully failed my mission on the mainland but was prettified from head to pedicured toe. I had tried to maintain a modicum of manliness, opting for emo-chic black with white stars and shunning the headier nail varnish colours like mauve or scarlet (which wouldāve just screamed out off-duty drag queen). The ferry trip itself was a surreal Tsingtao-soaked blur: dalu compatriots stampeding like berserk bison (lubya mainlander brothers, mwah-mwah), lurid neon disco lights lining the stairs and the corridors, a huge fresco Ć la Hieronymus Bosh (I couldnāt have been so drunk I hallucinated this) entitled āCornucopia of Hokkaidoā depicting brown bears brandishing spears in ecstatic war dance dwarfed by a gargantuan pink crab against an apocalyptic backdrop of erupting volcanoes (Japanese, go figure), a very friendly older Taiwanese gent as roommate who told me in excruciating detail in excruciating min nan brogue all about his companyās product, a tool Ģ¶fĢ¶oĢ¶rĢ¶ Ģ¶gĢ¶eĢ¶tĢ¶tĢ¶iĢ¶nĢ¶gĢ¶ Ģ¶yĢ¶oĢ¶uĢ¶rĢ¶ Ģ¶nĢ¶uĢ¶tĢ¶ Ģ¶oĢ¶fĢ¶fĢ¶ for undoing hubcap nuts.
The only other thing to recount about that trip is that before the dirty uncle incident, a female customs officer had already pulled me aside to search my suitcase. (Foreigner? Random check? Rock-God nails? Who knows) She spent a while examining my light reading for the trip, a book about psychopathy entitled åæēč®ę (translated literally as āPsychologically Perverted.ā)Combined with my nails, itās a wonder they let me in at all.
Sorry for my hypergraphia (again). I should take a leech cure or something for it.
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This would be a good subject for a thread of the month club where everybody gets together and talks about one thread.
But there is no thread of the month club so too bad.
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@jinyu I am laughing my ass off at the latest installment. Your colorful life in somewhat enviable. You have my vote for the best stories and posts of the year.
Not much of a rant from me this time. Just a reflection on ānailsā since I once grew a long pinky nail and let my mole hair grow long. I also wore a wood bead bracelet and a jade dragon ring. Trying to fit in, I guess.
Iāve never experienced being a camp salon Boss, and (thanks to your experience), I probably never will. Thanks for the entertaining stories.
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