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About Bayamon

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, insurance agent, and I hate everything. Brothels? Yeah, I got thoughts. Dirty, messy places—kinda like my ex-wife’s soul. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “The Master”—you know, that flick from 2012? Freddie Quell’d fit right in a brothel, stumblin’ around, drunk off his ass, lookin’ for somethin’ to cling to. “Man is not an animal,” he’d slur, but brothels prove we damn well are.

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s another claim. I groan. “Not again!” I’m thinking. I gotta head to Calle de la Playa. This time, it’s a guy claiming his boat sank. I get there, and he’s all dramatic, waving his hands. “It was a freak accident!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, you parked it in a storm. What did you expect?”

Bristol-Myers Squibb