Looking at my spanking new Pilot Vanishing Point fountain pen (and getting a hard-on all over again), I recall an old friend we nicknamed ‘Buta’. No, he is not blind; he just lives his life as if he were – at least, this is how it looked to the rest of us. Buta was (and I think he still is) the quintessential ‘ladies man’. I mean, this guy likes women – really, really likes women. Let’s just put it this way: He’s got more girlfriends going at any one time than there are money-grabbing Mat Rempits clamouring all over the PWTC on any given UMNO convention day.
But the curious thing about Buta is that all his girlfriends – how shall I say this? – are rather unsightly. On a scale of ‘1-to-10’ (where 1 is downright ugly and 10 is drop-dead gorgeous), absolutely none of his girlfriends can possibly pass as even a 3! Now you know why we call him Buta.
In any case, my curiosity got the better of me and I cornered him over a few beers at Central Market’s Riverbank pub (as you may have guessed, this happened a long time ago). After three Southern Comforts and an equivalent number of beer chasers, I was confident that he had loosened-up enough for my big question. So I let fly:
“Buta, tell me – why do you go for the ugly ones? Why, Buta? Why?”
Much to my relief, he didn’t smash his beer mug over my thick insensitive head. Instead, he just laughed. When he stopped laughing, he looked at me for a while and started laughing all over again. I began thinking that I was the defective one here. Was there something he knew that I didn’t? It was as if I had missed a very important memo or something.
“You poor sod! You’re simply clueless aren’t you?” There was a twinge of sympathy in his voice that I didn’t at all appreciate. Obviously, he knew something I didn’t. And I was about to get an education I wouldn’t quickly forget.
“Me? Clueless? Hey, I’m the one going out with the gorgeous TV personality (who shall remain nameless) while you’re the one bonking every ugly cow in sight!” I retorted.
“That’s right, my friend. We are making progress here. How can I say this so you can understand?” he mused.
“Go ahead, make my day.” I goaded.
“I go out with the ugly ones for the same reason that TV personality of your goes out with you!”
I began having visions of merrily smashing my beer mug over his very insensitive thick skull but held back.
“Look, no offence, but the ugly ones treat you better. It’s as simple as that, mate!” he explained. I tried to follow his logic. But when he saw that I still wasn’t getting it, he put it this way:
“I’ve seen you had your heart broken more times than I care to count, man! And who are these women who piss all over you so unceremoniously? They’re the pretty ones, the goddesses, right?” he paused to let it sink in.
Buta then continued his lecture: “Look at me, man! Have you ever seen me get my heart broken? Have you ever seen any of my girlfriends walk all over me? Hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you ever have to choose between performance and beauty, always go for performance! The ugly ones will always perform for you. The pretty ones will only make you jump through hoops for them. And you should be nobody’s show dog, OK?”
“You understand what I’m saying, man?” he asked for effect.
“I guess so.”
“Good man!” he roared as he gave me a hearty but painful pat on my back.
But what does all this have to do with my spanking new Pilot Vanishing Point fountain pen? Everything! Just look at it – it is one ugly pen. It’s stocky, the clip seems to be in the wrong place, and it doesn’t even have a cap (like a conventional fountain pen should). I have no delusions of this pen winning any beauty pageants any time soon.
But the moment I have it in my hands, the yellow lacquer of her firm, generous body caresses my skin like the touch of a ravenous lover thorough soft shiny satin. This is enough to drive me into a frenzy of very passionate activity (writing, of course) that just goes on, and on, and on. And just when you’d think I’d had had enough, the memory of her smooth, compliant 18K gold nib takes me want to take her again and put her through her paces until she has nothing left to give.
I’ve had many prettier pens before. But they’ve always let me down in some way – sometimes in very big ways. In fact, the prettier the pen, the bigger the letdown is likely to be. It’s almost a law of nature.
My Pilot Vanishing Point is no beauty. But it sure performs like a dream. And I reckon she’ll keep me satisfied for a very, very long time.