Ryman Pablo was sitting in the garden of the vast hacienda overlooking the hills behind Medellin.  This had been fantastic time away from the stresses of life in America, Ryman’s Pablo’s wife was looking as hot as ever but his little greaseball son was in the way as usual, hanging about like the last churro in a gathering of polite people.  Ryman’s Pablo’s trusted sicario, La Conejita, ran across the garden.

“Patron, el conductor se ha estrellado con un alce.  Esta en el hospital.”

The latest deliveries of ferroalloys to Canada had been going well, the Chicago base was close enough to the border without being Detroit.  Obviously though, the driver was not aware that those hazards existed up north.  Since arriving all in cognito in the Windy City, Pablo Ryman had been instructed, better to be from Detroit than a Laker but better to be dead than from Detroit.  It was like the saying he had learnt when he first landed in Colombia

“Cuando la hermosa chica vive en Cali mejor para dormir con el hag en Medellin!”

Ryman Pablo stressed  about all the people in the six cities who would turn elsewhere when they could not get access to the good Colombian imports he sent across.

“Tenemos un dilema Conejita!  Debo ir a la Pensacola”

Ryman’s Pablo’s wife promised to still look amazing when he returned.  She was definitely not a Medellin hag!

While Pablo Ryman relaxed in Pensacola, a visit by his good friends from Washington had yielded some surprising results.

“Pablo Ryman…this is new stuff.  We can’t just let any old hoodlum loose with it.”

“Hey guys, that’s cool you know, but it’s me.  Ryman Branson.  What’s the worst I’ll do with it?”

That was what worried his friends in the federales but a little sweet talk here and there as well as the promise of the best Colombian exports had got him the goods.

He pressed play on his rudimentary sound system that had been cobbled together by the tech boffins at the DEA.

The loudspeaker on top of the car being driven down the neighbourhood was blaring away as Pablo Ryman sat at the wheel, grinning like a ridiculous Mexican.  This was the only way he could afford to reach the masses given he had been stiffed a little with his radio adverts. 

The familiar mariachi music from the radio adverts started out, it was a source of annoyance for Ryman Pablo.  The sound engineer had been very convincing and nobody had bothered enough to say otherwise so it hadn’t seemed worthwhile getting too worked up by it. 

“Mexican, Colombian it’s all the same man.  Moustaches and hats man, moustaches and hats.”

The nasally whine of the fake Spanish accent burst out like a popped pimple.

Hola, hola, hola muchachos!

Colombian Cartel Import/Export need a delivery driver in the location of your choice!  Only the best need apply.  We are taking applications from anyone willing to undergo our rigourous vetting process: drive as quick as you can round three laps of our specially designed track, no need to kill your opponents to get ahead!

It’s super easy to apply esse!

Send Pablo Ryman your administration fee of $100,000 and you will be put into a race against the other hopeful hopefuls. The winner gets to wear the coveted (and totally inconspicuous) gold, red and blue uniform of the Colombian Cartel.

With a one off payment of $2,000,000 to the winner to cover expenses like replacement sombreros, zapatos y chalecos antibalas you will become a valued member of the Colombian Cartel.

Benefits include funeral expenses in the event of a terrible accident and medical cover for any work related injuries.

So don’t delay.  Apply today.

Colombian Cartel – Dia y Noche, Colombia To Your Door

After hours of listening to the whiny voice, Ryman Pablo headed back to his little office and processed some of Ron_Swanson’s ferroalloy orders while he waited patiently for applicants.

Ron waxes his moustache and greases his extremeties.

Time to go to work.