SCHNEIDER TOPS 505
By: Iris P. Concepcion
David Hasselhoff comes to mind. Admit it. The torso, curly top, the fighting brows. Still at a loss? Oopppsss. Wrong program. I meant the car named Kitt. Knight Rider.
The gloss of my title, its purity and sleekness, catchy tag, that awesome number that defines selfhood of the first word. What are you thinking? Is this a space shuttle? A speeding vehicle? A blast from a retreating cyclone?
Actually, it is a ballpen's brand.
Yes, my ballpen. I normally write in longhand all the entries that I encode in this page. Less downtime. Also, I do not like to linger in front of the computer screen as I type (am paying hourly internet use) since it means paying more.
This ballpen, functional at its best, fills in my notebook without faltering and blinking as to give me a shadowy, blotted letter; it is essentially on top of its form.
Its seatmates are priced higher (incredulously tagged at 50%-60% steeper) in a nookie peopled by salesgirls who seem to be unkind to ballpens.
I almost dropped my dress when I saw its price. Less than ten pesos. Seven, I think, I could no longer recall.
God, redeemer of the world, they don't make ballpens like this anymore.
Remember the name, FAME! Schneider's gonna live forever, Schneider's gonna learn how to fly, NAME! (I am mixing up my lyrics).
You get the Irene Cara form of thought, do you?
As of now, it has serviced my 43-page writing menu tips which I copied from a recipe magazine featuring the Bacolod Boys. They are my new icons aside from the Backstreet Boys (they're so hot off the racks, literally). I likewise used it to write my daily notes, put my signatures on documents and likewise doubled as my teething gadget.
Negrense Hotties on the Board.
They're young, they're fresh, and they're giving sisigs a twist.
I love this ballpen. And guess what?
It loves me back.
(Note: That's how NOT to write an ad).
Try again:
I love this ballpen. It writes like a car.
No. I'll try again.
I love this ballpen. It is my teething gadget.
Worse.
How about:
I love my ballpen. Why? Because it is number One, stupid.
Never mind. At least it is better than the campaign posters I saw that could pass off as some Glutathione commercial.
I think I deserve a little pat on the back after surviving the rundown of miscalls from the ocean. I am finally where I am today and that is: "I love this ballpen!"
P.S.
Five years ago, I looked through a sculpted window and a skewer's fillet hologram appeared. The first time it gladdened me I said : "What the f*****k" while sleepily foot-paddling to my little urinal chamber.
After my amazement, I peed. And looked again if the facial hologram was still there. It was still grinning.
Then I slept. Do you wish to be me?
This is one of the perks I suppose to be me.