I’m the one who let down the rant crew with my shoddy “gang initiation” flop. We can, at least, enjoy each other’s company and crazy experiences 
Well if you are going to knock yourself why not really go to town and give yourself a proper punishment beating? Like the fightclub scene where he beats himself up?
P.S. not a flop
heart heart
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I think that my story has interest and merit. I just don’t express myself as artistically and engagingly as you guys. Ok, time to man up. What’s the SECOND rule of Fight Club? Nothing happened. Capiche?
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Any more ‘bizarre rants’ anyone? I am getting withdrawal symptoms here…
I didn’t read a word of the post, but it is nicely long.
Long? Yeah, it did dragon a bit 
Fucking jaw hanging open…
You actually believe people take the time to read such long posts… not going to happen.
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…and then the older guy said, " Screw that! Let’s WALK down there and read them ALL."…
C’mon, you dont really expect him to read the whole article, do you?
“You’re too long and i dont think i can take it.” Hear it all the time.
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Each to his own I guess. Do you have any more ‘rants’?
I’ve had a couple of ideas but haven’t written them down
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I saw that racial slur! Dont think you can edit yourself into political correctness just like that! I myself am rather partial to longer rants, as long as theyre nice and meaty at the same time. Love to hear any rants to be shared.
I amazingly havnt been attacked by any dog, child or elderly person this week, and am therefore currently very mellowly disposed towards Taiwan and humanity in general right now. Perhaps i should go down to the 7 and see whether anything happens to me that i can bitch about 
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You shouldn’t have encouraged me. It’s like seagulls. Don’t feed the seagulls. Here’s another rant. And it’s almost all true and it’s about tits. Or the lack of them. Each expat in Taiwan has his or her own reason for living here. Some fell in love with the splendid and varied sights, from the bright lights of Taipei to the east coast where luscious mountains mate with a glittering turquoise sea. Others were drawn by Taiwan’s vibrant Hokkien culture, by the languages and traditions of this fair isle. Not me. I came for the tits. Not just any tits, yellow tits. Taiwanese yellow tits to be precise. And I didn’t get none even though I was promised. So that’s what I want to rant about today. But, before I continue, let me first clarify. If this is the sort of yellow tit you’re interested in, you probably want to divert now to the “Birds of Taiwan” thread:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellow_tit
The yellow tit or Formosan yellow tit (Machlolophus holsti) is a species of bird in the family Paridae.It is endemic to central Taiwan… Its natural habitat is montane temperate forest… It has a restricted range and small population, and appears to be declining due to large-scale capture for export by the wild bird trade, so it is classed as Near Threatened by the IUCN.
Still with me? Good. So before coming to Taiwan, I’d heard about beetle’s nuts (sic). I’m not much of an entomologist, so I just presumed beetle’s nuts were a delicacy like huevos de toro, only made with the testicles of beetles not bulls. The nuts seemed a little on the large size, but then again, I reasoned, there are some mighty big bugs in the torrid climes. It also seemed fitting that an aphrodisiacal ambrosia like that should be served by sexually suggestive and scantily clad women, Taiwan’s famous ‘beetle’s nuts beauties.’
What really made me book my flight to Taiwan, however, was when my Taiwanese friends, females, told me all about 一百兩粒. Not only did you get your beetle’s nuts, but you got to grab the titties of the beetle’s nut beauty serving you. It sounded like a refreshing change from the custom in my country, where gentlemen are expected to at least buy a woman a drink before they grope her. These Taiwanese friends even promised to sponsor my culturally-sensitive breast squeezing and they had it all worked out. They weren’t going to let me feel up any mere chit of a girl, no, none of those slender bikinied beauties for me. I’d get the best value for my 100 kuai, they reasoned, if I bought my beetle’s balls from, and fondled the breasts of, a big sun-browned southern mamma, a bone-fide 阿姨 as wide as she was tall with a gapey tolerant grin and marvellously melonous mammaries.
And then I came to Taiwan and the beetle’s nuts were still there but the venerable tradition of yi bai liang li seemed to have been supressed by the authorities. So you see, I was scammed into moving to Taiwan with false promises.
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You caught me!
I liked your post as always. The idea that this practice would have been available in the past and not now is something that I find very interesting (I am kicking myself). I won’t tell you the story of my arrival in Taiwan, instead I will recount the scéal of an unsuccessful attempt to leave my own Island.
In the beginning: there was sun and shadows on walls, tiles, cobblestones, hills, and washing-lines. Voices ran like busy feet through the air. Some of them ran around me and then moved further away. I told them that I would follow. Some of them were sitting, some of them were conversing, some of them were eating. They were all up to something or other. I was wondering and thinking to myself when I saw the sun. It was very large and setting very fast; not as fast as a ball that you had dropped, about half as fast as that. It was a huge sun, more than ten times bigger than normal. It took up half the sky. It was not orange or red, but a very pale yellow, almost white. It did not dazzle or blind me in any way. Maybe I was looking at it thorough a special tinted telescope? The clouds in front of it were black and it was windy. It moved so quickly. Time must have gone more quickly while I was thinking. I can’t remember what I was thing about. Darkness fell after the sun. Darkness fell like a blanket falling off your nest in the early morning. It made you chilly and less snug, and it made you restless although you knew that now was not the time to be getting up. The colour the light and the voices fell away from the walls, tiles, cobblestones, hills, and washing-lines, away from the cries that still echoed from far far away. I could barely hear them now but I shouted out that I would follow. I woke the next day, and walked through the streets and noticed how friendly and nice the people were. Some people smiled at me, and some people just looked like they were nice people. I kept walking through the streets and they got bigger and bigger. They were opening out from pedestrian ones into big avenues, and now I was not surrounded by people, but by cars. I was half way across the road when the lights changed and all the cars were so busy and in a rush, and took off like in a formula one race. First they drove around me and I was uncomfortable and threatened by them, but then I caught a gust of air and started flying above the cars. At the start I was barely moving above them, I was at the wrong angle, but once I got my head tilted a bit forward, and my legs a little bit up more then I was ok, and I cut through the wind and it lifted me up above the streets. I was flying out of that city and towards a large ocean. It had very vivid blue and green colours, and it frightened me a little bit because it was so large, but I still wanted to fly out there. However I was starting to have trouble getting the angle of my wings and legs right, and the wind wasn’t helping either; it was blowing me back to the land. I was flying backwards towards a large quay, so large it was like a cliff. My feet bumped against it and I pushed myself back out, trying to fly out to sea, but I was pushed back again. I kept trying to fly out but in the end I had to land on the quay. I looked around where I had landed and found a motorbike moored there with my name inscribed on it. I didn’t know that seagulls could use motor bikes. I didn’t know that sea gulls had names. I didn’t know that I was a sea gull. All around the bike was covered in cooked white fish. When I looked over the far side of the quay I saw a small village. I didn’t want to go there but I felt that this was where the wind had been blowing me. I felt uncomfortable and I took a shoe off to find that it was filled with the same cooked white fish. I didn’t know that seagulls could wear shoes. I went into the town to find a circle of people around this guy who was like a mannequin, but also a person, he was craking jokes and playing a guitar. They said that he was a ‘Dead Elvis’. Apparently there were lots of dead Elvis’s, they came from the past, sang a song or cracked a few jokes, and then they disappeared again, Dead Elvis assured me that everything that I was experiencing was an hallucination, and he made these funny jokes about it and everybody laughed.
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Loved the story! Tastiest of all the offerings, I reckon. Shades of Beckett.不明覺厲！
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Thanks, although your posts are funnier, better with language and more original. But sure, it’s all good as they say. Interesting that you would imply that you don’t quite understand what I wrote because I also do not quite understand it! I have no idea what a Dead Elvis is or why there was cooked fish in my shoe! The next post elaborates some on the significance of me not understanding what I wrote. P.S. if you have another post I am all ears. I got some very good laughs out of what you have written in your previous posts, thoroughly enjoyed them.
When we got there we waited in a lobby with a lot of young hippy trendy types, and we all chatted in a friendly and very enjoyable way. One of the guys there held on to my hand for ages after he shook it, and he looked at me in a friendly way. I thought that was kind of strange because people don’t usually do that. When we got upstairs I was totally gob-smacked. The subject of the literary discussion was a new book by me. It was called ‘terrible misery’ and it was of great philosophical and literary interest to them apparently. ‘Oh shit’ I thought, ‘but that was just this collection of crap that I put on the net.’ I wondered how they would interpret it, would they see things about me that I didn’t even see myself? Would they read my stuff and then ask me questions that contained words that I didn’t even understand? What meaning would they ascribe to the seagull? And aren’t seagulls feet called something else, like claws…no hooves… shit I don’t know! Then I realized why your man had held on to my hand for so long. In the book I had complained that people were physically cold here compared to in Timbuktu where people would show more friendship and solidarity through physical contact. My philosophy was already having its impact apparently and people were engaging in longer and warmer handshakes because of it. This disturbed me because I didn’t actually like it when people wouldn’t let go of your hand. What had I done! I took a seat, and watched as they discussed my new ‘work.’ I can’t remember a word of what they said because most of it went right over my head. Which made it seem highly ironic now that several people sitting near me were looking at me with admiration for my ‘genius’. Then the lights went down a little and they began to show a film on a big screen. I quickly realized that it was a film adaptation of my new ‘book’. I was blown away. It was like as if these people were inside my mind. They knew much more about me than I did myself, and although the film had a totally different story line and totally different imagery, but yet I knew that It was somehow the essence of my book that was being presented. It started with these big tall women on swings; a big long row of them in multicolored clothes with clown type wigs. They had their legs out like as if they were doing the splits and they were singing opera. Then there were more women jumping around and loud circus like stuff that would kinda wreck your head: people being shot out of cannons, and jumping through hoops, clouds of smoke and horses and a guy in a top hat. The people in the film were all very large and lively and boisterous. Except for your one standing on the horses back; she was just plain confusing. My character stood in the middle and seemed to stand out because he was on a different wavelength and he had no possible way of relating to anyone else there, he was especially conscious of having no rapport with the opera singing women, and of having no assigned role in the circus. Then the film moved to a calmer setting. It was like a dance floor in a tent. People were moving around in ones and twos dancing, talking, laughing quietly and interweaving slowly. The camera zoomed in on one woman, she was small and wearing a long yellow and red dress. She had rusty hair. She was sipping a drink and lost deep in thought. I felt that she was contemplating something very simple, in a very deep way. Shit I recognized her, it was Rusty! My character greeted Rusty, they spoke together and then she suggested to him that they leave and head into town or down to her flat. The funniest thing happened then. I remembered that I was sitting next to Rusty and she looked over at me and said the same thing to me: ‘do you want to leave?’ she asked. ‘Yes’ I replied. So my character left with Rusty and I did the same thing, leaving with Rusty, as all the people watched a film of me leaving a similar type gathering with Rusty.
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There are so many gems to be mined from the last few posts (they must be read in context):
What a lead into a genuinely innocuous story.
I think, by definition, all Elvises are dead. However the atmosphere and symbolism of this concept resonates and lingers. Perhaps of a Jungian collective unconscious.
We’ve all been there! Oh no, what is the collective nominal classifier for “tits” in Mandarin, or “Beetle’s nuts” for that matter (一包，一盒，一百). I’ve been around for the latter. It was either a glance or a squeeze. Thankfully, it has been eliminated overall for the last eight years or so. The sad fact was that too many junior high or senior high school girls were working as so-called 檳榔 beauties. I think that is what got general acceptance for eliminating the practice.
I can’t compete with the poetry of your (sometimes hallucinogenic) posts, but I’ll try to share a rant in the next couple of days. Perhaps about the prevalence of booze on this beautiful rock. I was, accidentally, taken to a strip club once for a friend’s birthday. Maybe that would be better story. Oh. Wait. I lived for a year across the street from two whor…, I mean “brothels” and have also been in a few, with my Indian friend, trying to find a place that would offer him the services he required. Any requests?
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lol, because I am not interested in your long posts I have ADHD? You have issues
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Right, scratching my head too, if it were a dream, the motorbike might represent a throbbing object between your legs but what would the white fish everywhere, all over the bike, on the ground and in your shoe! What would that symbolize, hmmmmm, no idea.
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