#workers comp dr

[newyorkmedicalservices]

New York Medical Center - Long Island No Fault Doctor on Google: https://t.co/G5s66u4maJ

— NYMS (@NYMS1) January 17, 2023lo

[zouisalmightie]

i had a training at a different school today and i was walking up the stairwell and the stairs didn’t have that lil strip thing to put grip on the step and my foot slipped and i fell down the stairs and my whole right side has just been throbbing all day. idk if its cuz i fell super hard or if its cuz im 32 now but jeaus fuck i ache :/

[newyorknofaultdoctors]

New York Medical Center - Queens

[the-goonion]

Hi. I’m Dr. Torx, I was just wondering what the best method would be to make sure that my henchmen join the goonion? I want what’s best for them. I’ve asked them and it’s just scary the amount of them that are enrolled.

Thank you for contacting the Goonion!

Beyond simply advising your henchmen to use the first link in our pinned post to enroll, make sure they are aware of the benefits!

The Goonion works on behalf of its members to:

Negotiate for safer working conditions when necessary

Ensure each member of the Goonion is making a livable wage

Provide medical treatment and worker’s comp for on-the-job injuries

Ensure that all Rogues, Mobs, and Mafias in the Goonion are equal-opportunity employers

And by chapter, we

Negotiate health insurance plans

Advocate for wage raises, policy changes, and benefits

If you visit your local Goonion chapter headquarters, you will likely find flyers, pamphlets, and other informational materials that are specific to the chapter that your henchmen would be joining!

[yallwildinrn]

Snake in the Grass: Chapter 1

For @ckhalloween23's catch-all prompt: An Empty Grave

This is a horror fic I've been working on since May or June. Given my current pace, it probably won't be out until the latter half of next year, butttt since I have this first chapter done (and I wanted it to be done in time for Halloween of this year), I figured I'd go ahead and post this as a preview and a treat! Well, treat for you guys and me haha.

Content warning for alcohol, bars, and general spookiness.

Pool balls whizz & clack against one another, but the sound is mostly drowned out. The bar, while not packed, is bustling with life, as is typical for a Friday evening; the sounds of yelling, laughter, and glasses clinking fill the already cramped space. It’s the victory cry of men who have been itching for the work week to finally, finally, end.

Dim, warm lights mask dirty floors and mysterious stains of unknown origin that seem to infect any and every upholstered seat. The single TV crammed into the back corner behind the bar top has caught the attention of several men, all shouting and celebrating – or complaining – at every pitch of the game with gnashing teeth. The bartender scrambles to sling out drink after drink of who-knows-what for the night’s customers.

Johnny himself is seated at a round, wooden table shoved near the back of the room. It’s almost uncomfortably close to the billiards tables, and each shrill hit against the pool balls becomes harder to ignore as the night wears on. He’s got some good distraction, though.

He lounges in his chair with a Coors in hand, surrounded by his friends. Bobby sits at his right, sipping his bourbon, while counterclockwise from there are Jimmy, Dutch, and Tommy. It’s tight, mostly because they had to steal a seat for Jimmy, but Johnny doesn’t mind. Not a damn bit.

He takes a long, slow sip from his drink. He still can’t believe they graduated from West Valley six whole years ago, and yet here they are, still thick as thieves. It’s not the same as it was back in high school (images of late-night, high-speed rides on their Hondas and getting plastered on the beach come to mind), but given how damn busy they all are, it’s an impressive amount of effort to keep traditions & meet-ups alive – like these monthly get-togethers at the bar, for example.

Johnny half-listens to a light-hearted argument between Tommy & Jimmy about baseball players he doesn’t give a shit about. Dutch, caught in the middle, has decided to antagonize the two of them by playing devil’s advocate for both sides. Things are getting heated, but it’s nothing Johnny finds worth worrying about. A nudge to Johnny’s arm snatches his attention away, and he turns to see Bobby with an expectant gaze and a soft, tipsy smile on his lips. Johnny reciprocates the smile without even thinking; he can thank the fact that he’s at least a few drinks in for that.

Bobby’s eyes sparkle as he leans towards Johnny. His cheeks are flushed, and his breath is rich and yeasty, laced with just a hint of sweetness. He smirks at Johnny and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s your back doing, old man?”

Anddd there it is. Johnny rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he answers, “Well, I’m no longer bed-ridden, so there’s that. I think I’ll be good to go back in a week or two once Dr. Gates gives me the green-light. I’m not supposed to see her for another two weeks, but if I feel better before then, I’m gonna see if she can squeeze me in, see if I can get back to work sooner.”

Bobby raises his brows in a look of mock shock, but it’s accompanied by a wry smile. “Did I just hear Johnny Lawrence say he’s trying to get back to work sooner? Thought you had worker’s comp to fall back on?”

“I do,” Johnny explains, snatching the neck of his Coors. The glass is smothered with wet drops of condensation that leave watery rings on the tabletop. “Just turns out that worker’s comp isn’t nearly as good as a roofing job. Pays the bills, but man.”

Johnny shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer. The icy cold liquid feels like a blessing, and he sighs as the bottle leaves his lips.

Bobby shrugs a little awkwardly. He tries to reassure Johnny as best he can by reminding him, “Hey, at least you’re getting comp this time.”

Johnny frowns harshly and shuts his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to will away a headache. He sets his beer down with a soft thunk, and the moisture clinging to the glass is already dripping back onto the table. He glares at a nearby wall and mutters, “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby starts with a warm smile, swishing the alcohol in his glass with one hand. “Not working under the table has its perks.”

Another round of loud cheers fills the room. Sounds like someone finally hit the damn ball. “Yeah, but the government also takes half my damn paycheck. Jimmy still hasn’t helped me figure out how to deduct all my taxes yet,” Johnny says, loudly pulling Jimmy into the conversation.

Jimmy turns away from his own conversation with Tommy & Dutch. He leans onto an elbow and smiles at Johnny, but it’s certainly not genuine; if anything, there’s a bite to it. He answers, “Just because I’m an accountant doesn’t mean I can magically fix your taxes, Johnny. Become a business, then we can talk.”

Johnny flips him off, earning a round of chuckles around the table as Jimmy rolls his eyes and relaxes back into his seat. Dutch points at Jimmy with his beer bottle and asks the accountant, “Speaking of, have you finally been let out of your cage? First time we’ve seen you in, what? Months?”

Jimmy sighs, and Johnny realizes that the polo Jimmy’s wearing is probably the most casual thing he’s worn out and about in a while. “Tax season is finally over. Thank god for that,” Jimmy trails off, and he takes a long swig from his glass.

Tommy eyes his friends and pipes up, “Too late for another round of shots?”

Another round sounds fucking amazing. Johnny instead answers, “I’d love to, but my wallet says no.”

Bobby chimes in, “My liver also says no. That first round was enough for me.”

Dutch’s face crinkles into disappointment as he boos Bobby from across the table. His chair tips back an almost dangerous amount while he does. He shakes his head and laments, “Ya think you know a guy, but then he goes to priest school and becomes a damn prude.”

Bobby glares at him as his grip tightens on his glass. “It’s called seminary, and I’m becoming a pastor, not a priest.”

Tommy snickers & nudges Dutch, giving him a mischievous look. He points out, “Didn’t say he wasn’t a prude.”

Johnny snorts, earning himself a Bobby-patented glare, which then sends him into a laughing fit. Sometimes it can genuinely be scary to be on the receiving end of that gaze, but most of the time (especially after all these years,) it’s become damn hilarious. There’s another vicious clack of the pool balls; the start of a new game.

“I hate all of you,” Bobby huffs. He crosses his arms and leans back into his chair, dragging his gaze across the figures of his (almost) drunk friends, who are still much more sober than half of the room. “Why do I even hang out with you assholes? What did I do to deserve this?”

Jimmy sips on his glass and looks at Bobby. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Be a prude?”

Johnny thinks he can see a vein bulge in Bobby’s forehead, and he has to stifle another snort. Bobby’s lips pull into a tight, frustrated line across his face. He finishes the last of his bourbon with a small gulp and slaps his palm onto the table so he can push himself out of his chair. “I fucking hate you. All of you. I’m getting another drink.”

He pushes his chair back in with his foot and starts to weave through the maze of people & tables, and Tommy smiles like a Cheshire cat and calls out, “Can you-?”

“No,” Bobby yells back as he crosses the bustling room. Tommy cackles in his seat, and Dutch follows suit, clapping a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and howling beside him. Johnny simply shakes his head and leans onto the table, resting on his forearms.

The wood sticks to his skin. He can only imagine how much dust is trapped under layers of sticky god-knows-what. Probably more than he realizes. It’s kind of gross to think about, but it doesn’t really faze him, especially when everything about this bar fits that bill. Not much about this place is great: the bartender’s a dick, the bowls of pretzels are stale as shit and few & far between, it’s impossible to find a seat without a weird stain on it, and there’s never more than two beers on tap.

That doesn’t mean it’s all bad, though. Johnny never has to worry about them running out of Coors. It’s a pretty good distance between all their places. The prices aren’t half bad, and hell, it doesn’t even come close to gracing their top ten list of “Shittiest Bars This Side of California!” So yeah, really not all bad, at least if you ask him.

Tommy’s hyena-like cackle grabs Johnny’s attention and pulls him back into whatever conversations he’s missed. “No, no,” Tommy starts, smiling wide. “I’m just- can you believe any of us actually graduated?”

Jimmy levies Tommy with a self-satisfied smile. “No, I actually can’t believe any of you guys graduated,” he teases. Tommy rolls his eyes.

Dutch scowls. “Yes, yes, we know. You made an A once and got into a big boy college, keep it in your pants,” He replies gruffly, finishing his statement with a swig.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tommy elaborates dryly while gesturing with his drink. “You’re not wrong, but think about it. Our senior year was such a shitshow.”

Dutch smirks and looks Johnny’s way. “I blame Romeo over here. Had no idea a breakup would lead to all that bullshit with LaRusso.”

Johnny stifles at the comment, and his cheeks flush – now red from more than just the alcohol – as he glares at Dutch. He’s about to bark out a comeback, but Bobby cuts him off when he comes sauntering back, freshly filled glass in hand, and retorts, “Oh please, we’re all to blame. We escalated it when we should’ve just left things alone.”

Bobby slides into his chair a little ungracefully, wood scraping against the floor, while Dutch shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He nods his head down a little sheepishly because… yeah. Bobby’s right, as much Johnny hates to admit it. Back at West Valley, they were all chomping at the bit to put the twerp in his place, but none of that needed to happen or even should have happened. They saw red, and LaRusso got caught in the crossfire. It was like they didn’t even see him. Just a conveniently placed punching bag.

The table’s air stills; the rest of the bar continues to thrum with activity while the atmosphere of their little corner slowly ices over. Johnny purses his lips and sips at his beer. Guilt gnaws his ribcage. Even after all these years, after the apologies and many, many steps to make things right, he’s still stuck with bitter memories that choke him up. He opts to study the many dings & scratches on the table rather than meet any of his friends’ eyes.

Jimmy’s the first to break the tense silence. “You know, if we have anyone to blame, it’s Kreese,” he spits out. It hits Johnny like a jab to the chest. He’s taken aback as Jimmy says this, but the man continues, “He put so much bullshit in our heads! All that punch first, think second nonsense. Like, come on-”

“Wait, wait,” Johnny interrupts while waving his hand to stop Jimmy in his tracks. How can he just say that? “Look, he was a total douchebag – I should fucking know – but we’re the ones who took what he said too far. We were still the ones who fucked with LaRusso. He didn’t tell us to do any of that shit.”

Tommy shifts beside him and stumbles over his words. “Yeah, like- but- Look, okay, you’re right, it’s totally on us for taking shit way too far, but Johnny,” Tommy says, and he turns to Johnny with pleading eyes. “He literally taught us to have no mercy. Literally. That’s not an exaggeration.”

Johnny frowns. “Yeah, but we took it out of context. He obviously meant to not take no for an answer, to- to keep pushing on despite the circumstances,” he explains. Are they seriously saying this shit? Even after all these years? After everything Kreese did for them? For fuck’s sake…

Dutch is next to speak. He throws Johnny an odd look as he adds, “Did we go to the same Cobra Kai? Because the one I went to taught us to do fucking everything to the extreme. Including the no mercy shit. Hell, he even had us do karate to the extreme. All those extra goddamn practices…”

“Yeah, and they were good for us. We needed some discipline!” Johnny snaps back defensively. His blood is starting to boil with every bullshit argument that his friends make.

He starts to bounce his leg. The sounds of laughter pouring out from a nearby table makes him want to snarl. He doesn’t get it, how can his friends just- just pass the blame onto Kreese? The guy at least tried to help them and make them into better people (before his sensei lost his mind, that is.)

Johnny turns to Bobby, who’s worrying his lip and squirming like he’s sitting on an anthill. “Come on,” Johnny says. “Back me up here.”

Bobby looks away from Johnny, jaw tense, but he turns back. He lets out a breath, look Johnny square on with a worrying level of sincerity, and says, “Johnny. Kreese worked us so hard once that you forget it was Ali’s birthday. She broke up with you over that.”

Johnny’s skin buzzes. He’s all too aware of the overpowering noise of the room. Hell, he feels like he can feel the next table over breathing on him. His stomach rolls. “That is not what happened,” Johnny insists with a hard stare. “Practice that day was not that bad. I remember it. It was fine.”

Tommy scoffs, “Then why were you so quick to go out drinking with us?”

Johnny’s more tense than a stretched-out rubber band, and he feels like he’s going to snap like one, too. He scowls and answers, “I forgot because…”

Johnny blinks and turns his gaze down. Sweat collects at the back of his neck while his chest tightens.

“No, I-I forgot because…”

His mouth is a cotton ball. He’s reaching into his mind, searching for the memory, but he just… it’s not right. It’s there, but somehow, it also isn’t. He remembers being brought in for an extra practice with his cobras, Twig being brought in to watch & help, the end of practice, getting ready to leave, and then…

His temples throb as tries harder to remember, but he can’t. There’s a gap, a void where something should be. It’s not like he’s just forgotten the details, god no. He’s actively reaching into his mind, searching and grasping for what should be there, sandwiched between the sparring and the night at the bar, but he just… He can’t. He can’t get there. Every time he thinks he’s brushing against what might be the memory in question, a pulsing throb shakes his skull, and it rattles his train of thought loose.

His eyes dart between his friends. His heart pounds furiously against his vice of a ribcage, and he wipes his sweaty palms against the thighs of his pants. Their faces are a varied array of distress and confusion. Why do they look like that? Are they trying – and failing – to remember, just like him? Shit, why can’t he remember?

A chill threatens to run down his spine. Could he ever remember?

When he was fresh off the breakup with Ali, he would spend hours torturing himself with all the ways he screwed things up; it was his way of trying to nail down exactly what he did wrong. Except… he always left that practice turned night-on-the-town alone. He never touched it, to his knowledge. Is- Is this why? Every time he tried to play the events over in his mind, would he get to this downright anomaly of a gap in his memory, and did it make him feel- well, make him feel like he does now? Sick and shaken?

Is that why he never, never thinks about the inciting incident that led Ali to yell at him and tell him things were done? Did the avoidance become muscle memory at some point so he would never try to recall that night & the memories associated with it?

He knows the answer. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t even feel natural. It’s not like he just forgot; no, it’s more like something was ripped out unceremoniously or maybe strangled and hidden in an unreachable corner of his mind. Does it matter what type of wrong it is? He wipes the sweat from his brow; the heat from the crowd of the bar tonight has finally caught up to him, it seems.

His mind circles back. Why can’t he remember? Why is there a gap? How long has it been there? Has- has it always been there? And not just any gap. No, a gap that, when he tries to recall upon what should be there, snaps up & bites him like a cornered animal. His head is throbbing. He fumbles for his beer and takes a long drink.

He looks again to his friends. He can only imagine the expression on his own face given theirs. He takes a chance and says, “Please tell me I-I’m not the only one who…”

Bobby slowly shakes his head, eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t meet Johnny’s gaze. Jimmy and Dutch don’t move; they simply squirm and keep their eyes down. Tommy’s chest is heaving as he sits up straight and looks ahead with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Johnny knows they must be in the same boat as him. They have to be.

Tommy answers with a shaky voice, “Who what?” Johnny almost drops his mouth wide open. Tommy’s asking that even though the man isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes and looks like he wants to run out of the room?

“Who what? What do you mean who what?” Johnny asks incredulously. “Who- who can’t fucking remember what happened that night!”

Tommy’s smiling, but it’s strained. He answers, voice as tight as his lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny grips his Coors so hard he thinks it’s going to shatter in his hands. “What do you mean what I’m-? You know exactly what I mean. Look at us! Look at yourself! Something’s not right.”

“Johnny,” Bobby pleads. At some point he rested his forehead in his hands, elbows on the table. “You’re- you’re not wrong, but Christ-”

Johnny turns to face Bobby with an eager gaze. He cuts him off, saying, “You can’t remember, either. It’s not just me. Something’s wrong.”

Bobby sighs through his nose. He’s getting frustrated; it’s a tell Johnny knows well. “No, Johnny,” Bobby says shortly. “I can’t remember. But I don’t want to. God, I just… I think I can speak for all of us when I say let’s just drop it. Please. I don’t want to think about-”

Bobby’s practically pleading, but Johnny doesn’t care. What’s more fucking important: a little bit of discomfort or the fact none of them remember the same exact damn thing?

Johnny cuts him off again and snarls, “About the fact there’s a fucking gap in our memories? The same gap for all of us, I’m willing to bet? One we’ve probably had since that night?”

Bobby shuts his eyes, and Johnny’s not sure if the man is going to cry or punch him, but given their shared history at Cobra Kai, it’s probably the latter. Dutch speaks up next, snapping, “Johnny! Just drop it! Yes, our memories are fucked, big whoop. I don’t care! I don’t want to think about it either! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like trying to remember and feeling my skin try to crawl off my body.”

Johnny drums his fingers against his bottle. He can’t fight the scowl on his lips. “Seriously? You’re just going to ignore this? Just like that?”

Dutch laughs bitterly. “Seems like we’ve been doing that for years, man,” he says with a shake of the head, but he pauses and looks Johnny straight on. “You know what? Hold on, let me ask you something. Let’s say we do talk about this shit. Have a little pow-wow and Agatha Christie our way through this bullshit. What the hell would we even do? Seriously, how in the fuck would you even recommend we- we try to fix this? Please, share with the class!”

Johnny opens his mouth to answer but shuts it tight in that same instant. His cheeks flush again. He genuinely has no idea where to start, actually. He does know that if they work together, they might have a shot, but Dutch writing him off with that cruel smile makes Johnny want to scream.

“Exactly,” Dutch says like the self-assured bastard he is, gesturing at Johnny with his drink in hand. “We can’t do shit, and since we’ve gone this long without thinking about it, why stop now? Sounds like none of us want to think about it, for christ’s sake.”

Johnny’s throat is tight. He can hardly believe what Dutch is saying. What Tommy and Bobby have been fucking saying. His blood pulses under his skin, and he turns to Jimmy, almost begging, “Jimmy. Come on, back me up. We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

Jimmy doesn’t look him in the eye, and it’s enough to make Johnny’s heart sink. The brunette swallows, lips turned downward ever so slightly, and he hesitantly answers, “Look, I-I’m sorry Johnny. I can’t. Why don’t we just… let sleeping dogs lie? All remembering does is hurt, and we can’t do anything about it, so why can’t we just…”

Johnny screws his eyes shut tight and flexes a hand in and out of a fist a few times. He brings his Coors to his lips, takes a healthy gulp, and slams the bottle back onto the table with enough force to make his friends jump a little. He glares at them all. He can hardly believe all the bullshit he’s heard tonight.

“Why can’t I just what? Drop it? Why aren’t you pussies willing to do anything about this?! It’s not right! Something is fucking wrong, and you just want to act like nothing happened!” Johnny says. His voice is starting to raise, and he’s getting the attention of a few nearby patrons, but quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. Fuck ‘em. “What is wrong with you guys? Who gives a fuck if it hurts to think about it! Something is wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t just forgotten. It’s gone. Or- or it’s there and we just can’t reach it but- Who cares! It’s still weird as shit, and you’re all just pretending like nothing fucking happened like a bunch of pussies!”

Bobby attempts to soothe him by saying, “Johnny, please, I don’t think this is as bad as you’re saying.”

Johnny feels his muscles tense, and he swears to god, he might break a tooth from how hard his jaw is clenched. He gets tunnel vision for a moment, only able to focus on the traitorous words that just came out of Bobby’s mouth, and when his vision clears, everything is suddenly too much again – screeching pool balls, wails & shouts from the crowd around them, the way his body is vibrating under his skin. He has to fight against the urge to throw & shatter his beer bottle on the ground (likely only because he’s not done quite with it yet).

He can’t believe that Bobby of all people would say that to him. Talk down to him like that. That simple sentence rubs him raw like coarse sandpaper dragged his skin. It conjures up painful memories of his mom brushing aside his pleas for help and, on occasion, Kreese asking him through a sneer if he’s a loser. And worst of all, Bobby knows this, better than anyone else. He’s been the one to listen to Johnny rant and rage about being brushed off and ignored. He knows how that phrase sets Johnny’s blood alight.

Johnny chugs the rest of his beer in one fell swoop and steps out of his chair so fast & hard it tumbles. He doesn’t even bother picking it up. He bites out, “Fuck this. I’m going home. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Pretend for all I care! Don’t come crying to me when this shit blows up in all of our faces.”

Johnny ignores Bobby’s protests as he begins to chase after the taller man, trying to get Johnny to talk to him or whatever. Johnny can’t talk to him, won’t. He can’t even look at him right now. He grits his teeth as he weaves between people, and the longer Bobby follows, the more certain Johnny becomes that he really might start swinging.

Johnny has to shoulder his way into an open spot and wait for the bartender to slide by, but flashing some cash is all it takes to grab his attention. He feels like his skin is going to vibrate right off his body, and he snaps at some asshole sitting beside him who tells him to watch it.

Bobby catches up to Johnny as he’s trying to pay the bartender, worthless platitudes tumbling out of his mouth, and Johnny hisses through clenched teeth, “If you don’t lay off, I’m gonna knock your teeth out, I swear to god.”

It works as intended. Bobby steps back, startled and wide-eyed. Johnny knows he looks a little wild right now, but he just does not care. He feels like he’s one wrong word or move away from snapping, from saying & doing shit he’s going to regret. He just wants to get out of this fucking bar and away from his shithead friends.

Johnny breathes a small sigh of relief when Bobby accepts defeat and slinks back to the table stuffed in the back of the room. He always was the smartest of the five of them. He knew when it was time to leave things be before it blew up in their faces. Johnny thinks of Daniel, and he feels a little sick, but it’s replaced with another wave of hot, tepid anger again, the same kind that haunted him all through high school.

With his tab paid, Johnny shoves his way out of the bar, other patrons throwing protests, swears, & a few obscene gestures at him, but Johnny makes himself ignore it and pushes on. If he starts to pay attention and care right now, even a little, he’s probably gonna get the cops called on his ass, and he just- he can’t deal with that on top of everything else tonight.

He opens the bar door with a hard shove, and the chill night air washes over him. While the streets are neither silent nor empty, it’s still much better than the bar, and he feels his chest loosen enough that he can breathe again. He stomps over to his Avanti, and halfway through sticking his key into the door’s lock, he decides that he doesn’t have enough beer at home to deal with this night.

[daggerzine]

Workers Comp- S/T (Ever/Never Records)

A pleasant surprise from a friend who hepped me to it by this Detroit trio who had been doing other stuff. Singer/guitarist Josh Gillis is from a band called Deadbeat Beat, while the rhythm section is drummer Ryan McKeever (from Staffers) and bassist Luke Reddick (from Divorce Horse). So go ahead and call ‘em a supergroup if you want, they sure won’t mind.

Opener, “When I’m Here,” is cracked country at its finest (with tongue possibly planted firmly in cheek). While they rev it up a bit on the Modern Lovers-ish “Pick and Choose,” and “It’s Fine” is like when Doug Yule showed up at his first V.U. practice armed with a dented guitar, a bottle of Dr. Pepper (and a smile, of course).

Keep listening or you’ll miss some one-note guitar solos and a drum set that I hear fall over on the great “Lemon Kit.”  Best lyrics- “I can’t stand myself when I’m by myself” (from the awesome “Peel Away’). “Shoot” is where another one-note guitar lead turns up.  

They end it all with the great “Basic Values.” So if you wanna know what the Detroit sound is like right this second, then turn your ears toward these well-dressed gents.

www.evernever-records.bandcamp.com

[rewcana]

it's the 2 yr anniversary of me getting hit with the corner of a 43lb box containing an AC unit. it scraped against my back over my left shoulder blade. i am currently disabled by that injury, 2 years later. it's a different form of that injury but it is a result of it. i've not gotten any medical treatment because it's a work injury and my employer won't take responsibility for it. im in the middle of a months long lawsuit trying to get compensation and treatment. ive been disabled for 9 months. i healed okay from the initial injury but during heavy lifting activities or anything involving my shoulder it would aggravate the injury. then i got another heavy lifting job and the injury was severely aggravated again after not bothering me for months. i decided to go through workers comp and the dr told me to work and continuing to work through immense pain (i informed the dr how severe the pain was) aggravated the injury SO MUCH that it has stayed with me this long. previous aggravations of the injury would heal within a week but because i was forced to work because my doctor restrictions held more weight than my present experience, now i have a severe physical disability and chronic pain.

i have relived the injury so many times, re-experiencing the physical trauma. and the emotional trauma from having to justify and defend my pain to my managers, health care professionals, fucking insurance agents. my insurance bitch wouldn't listen to me when i wanted to go back to the doctors so they could change my work restrictions because lifting 15 lbs was incredibly painful for me, i could barely move my arm without severe throbbing pain. she wouldn't shut up about the process and only listened when i was having a full on melt down in my car outside of the clinic. fully sobbing and screaming in my car because no one is taking my pain seriously. she finally approved it and insisted that it "wouldn't matter" bc all she cares about is the case and if the company will be held liable. but getting more severe work restrictions saved me from extreme pain.

then i had another full on sobbing melt down in front of my supervisor and manager which is an autistic person's worst nightmare. this one was because i was put into work that i was pressured into agreeing to that technically didn't fit into my dr restrictions and i was in severe pain still. i told my supervisor that my injury was really painful today so i would be icing it. he said that was fine and that i could do so for as long as i need. i did that and then he confronted me and said i was doing so for too long. i rushed away and burst into tears and sobbed in the bathroom because my pain was so extreme and i was so frustrated with people not being clear and feeling like no one was considering my pain. masking pain is such a traumatic and prevelant narrative in my autistic ass life. but this insane physical pain was just too difficult and i felt so weak and pathetic and i was sobbing for like over an hour while trying to talk through this with my manager and the supervisor. the supervisor was taking it personally but i just keep saying that it's because i'm in so much pain. my manager was actually quite sweet and understanding about it because she had been through an incredibly painful injury as well.

pain is really like... if you haven't experienced it to a certain degree, it's just conceptual to you. you really can't understand it unless you've felt its horror.

anyway being autistic and injured in a workplace sucks. it also fucking sucks being disabled with a special sting that it's a work injury that is legally complicated so the lawsuit is taking forever and who knows if i'll ever see the end of it. i really hope i will. these are free lawyers so they kinda don't care but they do but it takes time i guess. gods. i just fucking hate capitalism so goddamn much.

i regret so hard not suing when i first was injured but my social anxiety and avoidance behavior kept me from it. if i had known how much it would have fucked me over in the long run i would have. not to mention the mountains of trauma i went through at that workplace. gods no wonder i've been unemployed for so long (well besides the disability that makes most work i qualify for impossible) i have so much goddamn work trauma. fuck.

i miss the good ole days of dining hall work. i didnt get paid much and didnt really talk to anyone but at least i wasn't experiencing the horrors.

on a brighter note the severity of the pain and disability is much less. i can cook, clean, carry some things, shower, get dressed, use the toilet, etc. with minor pain. i still feel severe pains after periods of lots of activity (lots of cleaning, moving around, cooking, driving, etc) and i can't carry heavy things with my left arm or extend it far for long. there is lots i can't do but i hope to do. maybe on the 3rd anniversary of the injury, i will have justice. i will be actively getting treatment. i hope this will be true. im glad that at least i finally did sue. i'm taking steps tho the journey is slow due to extreme avoidant behaviors (due to extreme burnout). day by day by day by day.

[vividlyfuturistichurricane]

v siobahn Donnelly Silvia ratsch Stewart Sanderson dr Fabio ballestro dr rohit goel dr sleeman rbwh Fremantle hospital dr Stella fabricant /fabrikant dr Rhianna McNeil sco dr nth cairn mental health sth side mental health social workers centrelink ndis ndia boland slater kovacevic Lawton ash si lins Dave Jen abo president pc wpc London met gtr fire service realtors ray white depts immigration agriculture industry arts science engineering foreign affairs home affairs passport office customers post corrections trade Westminster Birmingham Leicester Nottingham London Manchester Rhyl Cardiff Bristol Southampton Portsmouth Dover Coventry Edinburgh nyc dc Washington Seattle can Vancouver Halifax on mo u.s la Hollywood Iran Iraq perverters pervs sickos crims shrinks quacks smellies losers kurongkurl katitjin woolies coles its sth Africans and abc ch1,2,3?4,5,6,7,8,9,10 cbs nbc peacock cnn cia fbi cud Neil woods pak Ind Sri Lankans Bangladesh is perverters of justice devina Ben Shirley ku naz Glenn Jo miyuki kiyomi Juanita Suzanne Laura Jennifer Jan cgr cv coconut resort big 4 islanders. TI uk civil service bow comm bank Bradford n bungles McDonalds kfc Burger King babalola new order joy division wrigley Howard’s palmer Barrett wyn jones park cakes pace Richard’s gray hill Fran cal Jon artingstall Oldham vets consulates embassies gays Perth Brisbane police Bowen police magnums police Irish Swiss Germans Dutch French Italians Greeks Scot’s actors looney sherry Malay homos n lesbis chasers mastermind fennel Adam Dutton gaff ure kashif ashraf families Delhi Mumbai Prakash Trinidad rotti shack rattle n hum crystal brook Ironman ioc aoc afp ato legal aid ombudsman crim ink comp apple Microsoft x nasa virgin glue hans tuffet Milton Aaron tania kayaks Asians Africans Caribbean s Europe un eu nato

[alecahomehealthscottsdale]

Aleca Health is a trusted name when it comes to effective and personalized work injury treatment in Scottsdale. Our skilled healthcare professionals are committed to guiding injured workers through recovery and rehabilitation. We provide services including diagnostics, physical therapy, and occupational therapy tailored to your injury type. Whether you’re recovering from a slip-and-fall, repetitive stress injury, or lifting strain, our compassionate team helps restore your health and ensure a safe return to work.

Aleca Health Scottsdale 8502 E Princess Dr STE 200, Scottsdale, AZ 85255 (480) 264–4568

My Official Website: https://alecahealth.com/arizona/home-health Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=14902602172443551719

Our Other Links:

in-home outpatient rehabilitation therapy Scottsdale: https://alecahealth.com/arizona/outpatient-therapy Scottsdale hospice provider: https://alecahealth.com/arizona/hospice

Service We Offer:

home health services work injury treatment work injury care senior living therapy outpatient rehabilitation therapy physical therapy workers comp therapy home nursing services

[newyorkmedicalservices]

— NYMS (@NYMS1) December 19, 2023

Workers’ Compensation Doctors Near Kew Gardens

[newyorknofaultdoctors]

New Jersey Recording Studio Near Me

Address: 510 Broadway, Bayonne, NJ 07002

Hours: 

Open 24 hours

Phone: (201) 855-4487

[recruit-art]

🚨 Don’t Let These Labour Hire Licence Mistakes Slow You Down 🚨

Real talk for Aussie recruiters 👇

So, you’re setting up (or running) a recruitment agency in Australia and ready to apply for your labour hire licence. Love that for you 💼👏

BUT — so many people get delayed or rejected over things that are totally avoidable. Here’s how to do it right the first time (and how RecruitArt can save your application from chaos 💡).

💣 The Most Common Mistakes (and how to dodge them)

📂 1. Incomplete Docs = Instant Nope

Forget even one of these and it’s game over for your application:

Tax returns & BAS statements

Super contributions

Director background checks

Insurance (workers’ comp + public liability)

Double-check EVERYTHING, fam.

🔁 2. Info That Doesn’t Match

If your business name, ABN, or address doesn’t match what’s on file with the ATO/ABR? Delays. Red flags. The whole mess. 😬

🧾 3. Compliance Issues

Behind on PAYG or super? That’s a big ❌. You gotta be squeaky clean before applying.

🕑 4. Missed Deadlines

Each state = different rules. Miss the cut-off and you're back to square one. Not ideal.

💡 Pro Tips to Get It Right (First Time)

✅ Build a Checklist

Don’t rely on memory. Make a doc. Tick stuff off. Save your future self.

🔍 Double-Verify Details

Your business info should match everywhere — ATO, ABR, insurance docs. Keep it clean.

🤝 Call in the Pros

No shame in needing help. RecruitArt knows the game and can guide you through every part of the process.

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Financial reports

Insurance docs

Compliance receipts + fair work evidence

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Prep & review all docs

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🏁 Final Thoughts (TL;DR Version)

Get your licence. Do it right. Skip the stress.

✅ Stay organised ✅ Avoid rookie mistakes ✅ Let RecruitArt help you win

📩 Need help with your labour hire licence app? DM or contact RecruitArt — they’ve got your back from start to finish 💪

[drowningwavez]

Had a bad night last night. Was missing mum and told them I wanted to go home . They said no. I’m waiting to see my dr as idk what the plan is. He had said we’d drop to twice weekly ect next week with looks to discharge but I don’t feel ready to discharge feel awful saying that and we won’t have outpatient ect approved by workers comp by next week

[anonymousrobinhoodqueer]

I’ve been out of the hospital for a week and I keep feeling useless. I feel guilty that I can’t do everything I used to be able to do and it’s made that much harder by the fact that my mom cant do what she used to and my dad broke his wrist and can’t do all that he used to. It sorta feels like everything is imploding even though I know it will be okay.

I hate that I can’t go to work because I don’t have the energy or patience to drive 30 minutes there, work and then drive back.

But I have to keep reminding myself that what happened was traumatic and I have not really processed much of it because they didn’t really do that much to make me feel better (I arguably feel worse because of all the antibiotics)

But I did have enough energy last night to crochet, which is more than I can say for the rest of the time.

I got a letter from my insurance telling me that the hospital submitted a claim for my stay. Didn’t say anything about them paying it or anything.

And I got a bill from the hospital for my ER visit in January when I hurt my finger at work, and that’s almost $400 for me to pay, which is not good because all they did was give me a tetanus shot and a bandaid. Literally. They even gave me the wrong information about workers comp. So I had to find the right stuff on my own. And then they couldn’t even help me because my job did not send me.

So I need to find the papers from the next day when I called and reported the incident (which I was only able to do because one of my managers searched through the handbook and found the info on page 630) and they never followed up with me. So now I have to call and find out what to do about that.

And I am dreaming about eating vegetables. But I can’t because the dr said low fiber.

And I got oral thrush for the first time in my life because of the antibiotics. I am taking a probiotic too but it took 2-3 days before I could because insurance wouldn’t pay for it.

Because my PCP follow up is not until April, I’ve been doing home remedies for it and they help a little but it’s still very uncomfortable.

And neither GI or surgery called to schedule follow ups so now I need to call and check with them on Monday.

[dollopheadedmerlin]

Man I usually handle injuries pretty well. It's hard to shower and get dressed and stuff with two broken elbows, and I need a straw to drink, but tbh when this sort of thing happens to me, I usually spend the whole time just kinda taking it as an interesting experience. I'm like oohhh interesting how doing this improved my mobility. Or oooh I found a sneaky way to get this task done without needing help when previously I thought I couldn't do it by myself.

And that is true for this injury as well. I'm just emotional because the timing couldn't have been worse. I JUST started my seasonal job, and I had been telling all of my friends how excited I was to get back on stilts. Because, not to toot my own horn, but I'm really good at stilt walking, and I love the character I play at my haunted house. And then my stilt malfunctioned right before our mock runs and I fell whilst I was like 9 feet tall.

I was fine the first two days. Workers comp is covering everything, so I was mostly just chilling and listening to the prognosis and then seeing how my mobility was.

But then our dress rehearsal came, and I wasn't on stilts. I don't mind being on the ground from time to time, but it just kinda hit me that I might spend most or all of the season not on stilts. Thank goodness I play a silent character because I started crying in my costume halfway through. Then I was embarrassed in the dressing room because I couldn't reach my face to wipe it off, and I had to have my coworker help me out of my costume from the waist up.

Then I went to get a drink of water and the cup slipped out of my hand and I had to tell someone else about the spill because I couldn't clean it up.

People also recognize the character I play. And the people who came through for free for dress rehearsal, occasionally said things like "wasn't that taller last year?" Which didn't help.

There is another stilt walker that's sort of meant to be my understudy. But she is newer, and she got freaked out by the mesh mask in the dark, and got down. And I felt bad for that as well both because people expect a stilt walker in that room, and I couldn't help guide her back to stilt chair or anything because I can't reach and gripping/putting strain on my hands or arms hurts a lot.

So TL;DR I broke both of my elbows and laughed it off without a single tear but then was close to sobbing thinking about not stilt walking lmoa

[termitesisagrandslam]

yknow when patients are rude to me even if it pisses me off i make sure not to show it as best i can. but today i talked to a rude workers comp insurance agent and i was just like barely containing my rage lmao

and also it sucked bc she was asking if the doctor wrote the patient a disability note at a certain appt and they hadnt and when i said that the agent was like "ok, so he wasnt disabled at the time..." like she was jotting it down. like just a weird way to phrase it, as if his disability didnt exist outside a drs note