- published: 22 Sep 2015
- views: 466454
A ballpoint pen is a writing instrument with an internal ink reservoir and a sphere for a point. The internal chamber is filled with a viscous ink that is dispensed at its tip during use by the rolling action of a small sphere. The sphere, usually from 0.5 mm to 1.2 mm in diameter, may be made of brass, steel, tungsten carbide, or any durable, hard (nondeformable) material.
The manufacture of economical, reliable ballpoint pens arose from experimentation, modern chemistry, and the precision manufacturing capabilities of 20th century technology. Many patents worldwide are testaments to failed attempts at making these pens commercially viable and widely available. The ballpoint pen went through several failures in design throughout its early stages.
The first patent on a ballpoint pen was issued on 30 October 1888, to John Loud, a leather tanner, who was attempting to make a writing instrument that would be able to write on his leather products, which then-common fountain pens could not do. Loud's pen had a small rotating steel ball, held in place by a socket. Although it could be used to mark rough surfaces such as leather, as Loud intended, it proved to be too coarse for letter writing and was not commercially viable.
Who's gonna wash their feet upside down
And who's gonna mosh with their arm broken?
Are you gonna wait for me?
Are you gonna wait for me?
And who's gonna take a nice Sunday out?
And who's gonna kick the ball in the house?
And who's gonna bid for the mailman's pouch?
And who's gonna set fire to the couch?
And who's gonna build when the yard's burning?
Write this down, better write this down
Got a feeling gone
Forget it if I don't write this down
And who's gonna sue when they're not working?
And who's gonna count when it won't open?
And who's gonna feel for you when you've gone
Into the sea with the birdies and the fish
And wounded me?
Write down the crime with a ballpoint pen
With a ballpoint pen
Will it come at me with a ballpoint pen?
Will it stab my hand so I can't write anymore?
Got a feeling gone
Forget it if I don't write this down
And who's gonna take a nice Sunday out?
And who's gonna kick the ball in the house?
And who's gonna bid for the mailman's pouch?
And who's gonna set fire to the couch?
And who's gonna build when the yard's burning?
Write this down, better write this down
Got a feeling gone
Forget it if I don't write this down
And who's gonna sue when they're not working?
And who's gonna count when it won't open?
And who's gonna feel for you when you've gone?
Who's gonna wash their feet upside down?
And who's gonna mosh with their arm broken?
Are you gonna wait for me?
Are you gonna wait for me?
And who's gonna take a nice Sunday out?
And who's gonna kick the ball in the house?
And who's gonna bid for the mailman's pouch?
And who's gonna set fire to the couch?
And who's gonna build when the yard's burning?
And who's gonna sue when they're not working?
And who's gonna count when it won't open?