Two days ago I went to a police station to make an incident report—“magpa-blotter,” in the vernacular—and get a certification. I gave the needed information to the officer on duty then went to the City Hall to pay the fee.
When I returned to the station the officer was typing the certification on a PC inside a backroom. I whiled away the time watching with the other policemen a replay of the Pacquiao-Cotto bout.
Half an hour later the officer called me into the backroom. He said I could revise his draft since I was “mukhang magaling” at that sort of thing (I was wearing glasses).
So I edited away. Half of the body of the signed certification ended up mine.