As far as character is concerned, bemos can be categorized according to a few themes. There is the religious bemo, which proclaims, "Jesus Christ," "Bapa Yesus," "Jesus is my Superhero," or, more straightforwardly, "Jesus." Some of these have elaborate tint- or sticker-jobs that obscure one's view out of the passenger windows but look like stained glass from the outside. The playboy bemo, on the other hand, probably couldn't be too explicit without losing business. But it is suggestive enough, with its girly decals (exclusively white, with long, flowing hair and full lips) and coy quips like "Otomatis Romantis" ("Automatic Romance"). I have yet to see it with my own eyes, but a fellow volunteer who lives on the far west side of the island informs me that one regularly passes by her front door, flashing, in big, bubble letters, "BOOBS."
Finally, there is the stud bemo, which I could further divide into distinguishable sub-groups (hustler, punk, pretty boy, angsty teen, footballer, happy-go-lucky, Napoleon complex, etc.) but which seems to cohere better as a catch-all category for the preponderance of bemos that, more than piety or lust, broadcast some flavor of heavy-handed masculinity. One claims the title, "King of Kings." Another calls itself "Boss Kici" (Little Boss). One reminds us, in English, that "Time is Money" while its cousin confesses to being the "Money Hunter" himself and drives home the point with dollar sign stickers. Bajawa Bro shows its class with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and a rocks glass in its back window. I usually ride the number 6—a sprawling fleet in shades of lime, turquoise, and jade. It sometimes whispers in my ear as I pass through its door, "Cinta diawali dengan senyuman tapi diakhiri dengang kesedihan" ("Love begins with smiles but ends in sadness") or, "Uang bukanlah segala2nya tapi segala2nya butuhkan uang" (Money isn't everything but everything needs money"), or, pensively and again, in English, "I am just an ordinary boy."