Do You Believe Bato de la Rosa?

In the last impeachment hearing, the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) can find 144 "Irene Tans" faster than you can order a milk tea.

But when they were searching for Mary Grace Piattos. They could not find a trace.

That was not a technical glitch ... but more of  a spiritual anomaly. 

It appears the Office of the Vice President (OVP) ... when they want a name to appear badly ... the opposite happened.

During the April 14 impeachment hearing, the PSA confirmed what we all suspected: Mary Grace Piattos, Kokoy Villamin, and Milky Secuya do not exist. 

They haven't been born, they haven't married, and they haven't died. 

They are the ultimate "Confidential" citizens—so private that even the government that gave them money has no idea who they are.

But wait! Before we call for an exorcism of the OVP’s ledger, Senator Bato Dela Rosa is here to save the day with some "expert" local knowledge. 

According to the Senator—who definitely isn't just making things up with his interview with Karen Davila—the Piattos family is real, wealthy, and lives in Davao.

Apparently, in the Davao social registry, "Piattos" isn't a hexagonal potato chip with a satisfying crunch; it’s a prestigious surname. 

Perhaps they are cousins to the "Chippy" clan of Cebu or the "Nova" aristocrats of Northern Luzon?

• Bato’s Logic: "I’ve seen them! They aren't snacks, they’re people!" Karen D. can't hold her laughter ... but she tried to control it ... as she protested: With all due respect.

• The Reality: The Senator is "lying through his teeth" with such vigor that he might need a dental referral. When your boss’s budget is on the line, apparently the first thing to go isn't the fund—it's your grip on reality.

• While "Irene Tan" is so common she has 144. birth certificates, Milky Secuya and Kokoy Villamin remain as elusive as a politician’s promise

• Milky Secuya: Sounds less like a confidential fund recipient and more like a rejected brand of evaporated milk.

• Kokoy Villamin: Sounds like the name of a character in a 1980s sitcom that was cancelled after one episode.

The PSA’s "Negative Record" is essentially a polite way of saying, "These people are imaginary friends who happen to be very expensive to maintain." 

It’s a miracle! The OVP has managed to distribute millions of pesos to people who don't have biological footprints. It’s not just "Confidential Funds"; it’s Supernatural Finance. 

The Commission on Audit (COA) is now in the awkward position of trying to track down receipts from ghosts. 

How do you issue a subpoena to a potato chip? How do you verify the signature of a man named "Milky" who has some feminine undertones?

This isn't just a "technicality" or a "clerical error." This is Narrative Absurdism (a kind of storytelling that is irrational .... illogical ... and nonsensical).

If the OVP’s defense is that these are "real people," then we are witnessing the greatest witness-protection program in history—one that protects people from the burden of ever being born.

Senator Bato can keep insisting that the "Piattos" family is a prominent Davao fixture, but until Mary Grace shows up at the PSA with a birth certificate and a bag of her namesake chips, we have to assume the only thing "wealthy" about this situation is the imagination of those writing the reports. 

So next time, if you’re going to invent names for your confidential liquidation, maybe pick something less likely to be found in a vending machine. 

Because when the PSA starts looking for "Mary Grace Piattos," the only thing they’re going to find is a lot of salt ... and very little substance.