LogFAQs > #922715238

You are sitting in your office, face flat on your desk, crippled by the annoying phone conversation you're having for what has to be the millionth time. "Two-Toed Tony..."
"Yeah?"
"What am I gonna say?" you ask him.
"You're gonna feed me a bunch of garbage about a loophole I fell into and blah blah blah and so on and what have you-" Tony starts.
"Tony it's not-" you try to interrupt him.
"-but ultimately it's gonna end with me getting screwed out of my disability retirement."
There's a knock at your door, but you ignore it for now. "Tony. You can't receive your pension via disability retirement until Cigna approves your long term disability claim."
"I did that," he replies.
Smilin' Gary slowly opens the door to your office so as not to disturb your phone call. You hold up one finger to him and explain to Tony, "You provided a disability approval notice from Sedgwick. Sedgwick is not our disability administrator, Tony. It needs to be from Cigna."
"This is bullshit, man. I have chronic, debilitating pain. I can't work in this condition. I have constitutional rights to this money. Constitutional, um... federal, principality rights and what have you," Tony pleads. "Sedgwick sees it. They see me hurting."
"Okay well we violate the law for a living, Tony, so don't cite the constitution at me. And I believe you're in pain, but I can't just give out money when you haven't filed the proper paperwork. If I give money to you, then maybe Smilin' Gary will claim his mouth hurts from smiling too much and he'll want disability payments too," you reply as Smilin' Gary sits in the chair opposite you, not smiling in the slightest. "The rules are in place for a reason, Two-Toed Tony."
"Okay well, it seems my name should provide proof of my disability," Tony suggests. "You guys literally called me Two-Toed Tony after the Jovanovski gang shot off eight of my toes. A lot of our guys were witnesses, seems like you could ask one of them where most of Two-Toed Tony's toes are, and when they say 'I don't know'... disability approved, probably. And what have you."
"Well, y'know, if one of them gets a job at Cigna, we might be in business. Until then, no disability, pal. Stay strong, keep your head up and what have you," you mutter as you hang up the phone.

Smilin' Gary looks up from the chair. "Two-Toed Ton-"
"Yeah," you interrupt. "Every fucking day, man. Please don't tell me you're here to report an employee injury."
"Nope," Gary frowns.
"Thank God," you exhale and sink into your chair. "Why are you frowning, Smilin' Gary? This is a good thing."
"Well, Hefty Hector isn't injured per se. More... dead," Gary informs you.
You lean forward in your chair. "Jesus Christ... How did it happen?"
"A heroin deal with the Peruvians went south. Both sides were hunkered down in cover," Gary recalls as his eyes turn into a thousand yard stare. "Hector was eating one of those popsicles with the jokes on them, you know? Where did the spaghetti and sauce go to dance? Only Hector sneezed before he finished the popsicle and accidentally threw it out into the open. He had the look in his eye, and I told him he better fucking not."
"He was going for the popsicle? Even after it had been on the ground?" you ask.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.