Tuesday, October 24, 2006


PanaRadio #6 79 Kilos of Blow...

March 21, 2005 PanaRadio Numbero Seis
Only Users Lose Drugs! 79 keys of Pure Columbian Coke!!!

Location: I had to agree to not to disclose the location. Surprise.
Circumstances: Big ass bust, local cops wanna' make damn sure they get some credit this time.
How Jim fits in: I can just hear you saying...
"How in the flippin' flyin' fuck did Jim come across 79 kilos of coke?!"

Well I had to agree to not tell. I wasn't even supposed to be in the room, you understand.


Here goes... ;)

But first...

Big Legal Fucking Disclaimer...

The attached photo does not constitute an endorsement of the international drug industry, specifically, but not limited to, the Cali, Medellin and/or any other Columbian drug cartels. Nor does in constitute a call to action to inhale, ingest or imbibe any product, legal or not. Don't do illegal drugs.
Stay out of the drawer!

Earlier in the day we had been at the Big Cock House, but that's another, beery, bleery, bloody, story. We are so-ooo obviously from "not here" with our cameras, women and clean clothes. Yet another local slides up next to me and says...something? My Spanish still sucks. I blow him off and keep on truckin'. He puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls up his shirt a little. A .38 revolver. Lovely. He pulls his shirt up a little further and I see his badge. Oh, well, that makes it all better, si?

"Uh guys! I think this nice man wants to talk to YOU..."

Just a matter of the local authorities trying to get some positive press for their diligent on-going efforts to keep low cost, high quality drugs off the campuses of America. We are directed to the local cop shop where El Jefé explains that there was a big, BEEG, drug bust here, at this place, the other night, and would we be interested in shooting some footage? "Si, Senor!" I give him his very own Austin Airwaves refer mag.

We're at this place and Betina from Argentina takes me aside and says that Panama City film crew we have been hanging with, has asked that we stay put and not go upstairs. Like I'm gonna' miss this photo op?! No friggin' way! We wait a moment and follow at a discreet distance and slip in the door. The tension is already high enough that nobody says anything. Betina from Argentina gives the boys a nervous smile. "We're cool," I whisper. The tripod is popped open, the Betacam white-balanced, and from behind a curtained corner in this filthy storage room, the two narcocops struggle to pull out four sugar sacks, each packed with paper and plastic-wrapped kilo bricks of first degree felony fun.


Have you ever seen 79 kilo bricks of pure cocaine? Well, of course not!(Well, if you have, sure as shit don't tell me!) I know I've never seen so much coca, or any amount of drogas, in my life.

Let's see, 79 kilos equals roughly 175 pounds, with 16 ounces per pound...how many grams in an ounce? I have no idea what even a gram of blow costs nowadays. Damn, why didn't I bring a copy of High Times? Plus this shit is puro! Am I looking at a million bucks here? The room is crowded with stacks of broken rifles, old police and military gear, canabalized radios, and other cop clutter. The note on the door reads, "No Admittance, Authorized Personnel Only!" which provides about as much security as the lock on the creaky wooden door, which I note is partially taped in place.

I shoot two pictures, one of which is attached. The film footage is to be shown on national Panamanian TV next week, so don't tell anybody you saw it here first.

Stay tuned, jim
right fucking here...

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