Scars are tattoos with better stories
 

I got tired of listening to two punks at one of our local guitar stores swap tattoo stories. Are you kidding me? A friggin' tattoo story?

I want to hear fat, juicy stories with some meat on them. I want to hear some good scar stories. And I bet TFPers have the best scar stories around (skimpy details will NOT suffice - I want to hear a story). I've definitely got a few scars of my own, so I'll start off with this simple one:

One of our cats went berserk two years ago and tore up my hand. We took Baxter out in the front yard with us (my wife always brandishes a beating-type weapon in order to brain any dogs that attempt to investigate the yard while we're out there with Baxter). He had a great time out there. A little wild bunny that lives in our yard hopped nearby and started feeding while Baxter watched. Then, it became time to take him inside. At this point, I should explain that he is the only one of our cats that we used to let outside in the yard (too many tragic stories) and we only did so on a harness. He wore a cute little green kitty harness and matching leash. Since he wore it every single time he went outside, he got used to it immediately and didn't think anything about it. When we opened the drawer to get out the harness, he came running from wherever he was in the house and started climbing on us to force us into hurrying up. He really loved the thing and loved going outside. He is also without question the sweetest, most lovable cat of all four. They're all sweet in their own way, but he's our little BooBoo.

So anyway, I scooped him up and took him back inside the front door like I always do. I set him down on the entryway rug and reached underneath him to unbuckle the harness. Absolutely totally without warning, he suddenly flipped over while still in the harness and grabbed my left hand with his front claws. His back feet then instantly began kicking the back of my hand while I tried to yank away. I might as well have been stuck in a bear-trap because he was severly dug into the back of my hand and was kicking the ever-loving shit out of it. I yelled a monstrous string of profanities while trying to yank my hand away (our window was open, too). I tried to yank him off me with my right hand and that's when he finally let go. He took off running through the house, trailing his leash behind him, and I went back to the front door to get my wife (who was still out in the yard, but could easily hear my screamed curses). I asked her to come in and see if Baxter was all right because he'd just torn my hand up. I looked down and there was blood all over the rug and floor, and I knew this wasn't going to end well.

First of all Baxter was ok - it took my wife less than a minute to calm him down and remove his harness. I was not so lucky. After washing, alcoholizing, anti-bacterializing, and bandaging, I counted that I had five severely deep wounds on the back of my left hand and 17 smaller wounds spread out over both hands. Later that same night, the entire back of my left hand started feeling like someone had pounded my knuckles with a hammer (his back feet) and my hand swelled up. I'd had a recent tetanus shot, so that wasn't the concern. What I believe happened is that the poor little guy actually broke my hand. I've had my right hand broken before and this felt and looked exactly the same.

The little wounds eventually healed, but the five really deep gashes on my left hand are still there. This photo I just took shows one of the scars that is near my wristwatch.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...reagl/scar.jpg

I have a scar on my right hand where my sister touched me with a very hot spoon.

I have a long scar on the front of my foot/leg where I cut myself with a chainsaw. I wasn't running...

I have an eraser burn on my left hand. Self mutilation ftw.

I also have a scar with almost connects to the eraser burn from when I shook up two 12oz bottles of soda and slammed them together.

Let's see, I have a few more scars but I have no idea where I got them. Sorry, My stories aren't as long as yours, It's been a while since I've gotten a new scar and the details have escaped me.

Knee surgery scars.
Gallbladder removal scars.

Still uncomfortable and quite upset my belly button is marred. I really didn't think it was going to be that bad. So no - no pics.

A few around my hands, wrists, and forearms from working in a kitchen. "Fuckin' breadpan!", "Fuckin' Heatlamp" ...

I have 4 scars on my right middle finger. I was around 7 when it happened, me and my family were at some kind of hotel where they had a half dozen animals in cages, including monkeys.
Nobody was watching me, and I stuck my hand through the bars and tried to pet the monkey. The animal took my hand with both of his, squeezed, and started biting the shit out of my finger. I yelled, my older sister saw what was going on, and helped yank my arm out of the cage.
The two scars around my first knuckle are from when the monkey started biting, the two other ones around the tip of my finger are from when we pulled my hand out.
Scars really do tell a story, because I can still tell the direction that we pulled my arm in from the parallel scars on each side of my finger.

I'll post a pic later, but I just checked one of my more memorable scars which is from when I was 10 YEARS OLD and got circumcised. Apparently the doctors way back then were convincing enough that my parents thought I should have that done even though I was obviously not circumcised at birth in Austria. Of course I have very clear memories of the whole event, a two day affair, ether gas tasting horrible, going home the next day with a giant wad of gauze hanging off the end of my good buddy, all stuck on there due to the dried blood; taking a bath and the soaked gauze weighing heavily until it finally fell off and I could see the still raw wounds and "new look". So I have this cute little piece of skin right along the edge where they cut off the hoodie thing, it sort of dangles like a little tongue. The little extra hunk is probably too small to produce any noticeable advantageous effects, but it gives a little boost to my imagination.

Another scarey story, this one not my own scar but one on my older son, now 14 y.o., who is also a testament that the cute little piece skin right along the edge is not a hinderance: I was sitting in the living room reading and could hear my two sons arguing as usual, the younger one is 15 months younger than the older one, and I can hear the tension level rising, so any minute now I'm ready to step in and end it. Just then I hear "oh my god, oh my god look what you did!!!" from my older son just as my younger son runs into the living room with a look of horrific shock on his face. I go into the den and see my son sitting there with a full size fork stuck in his thigh (he had shorts on) with the entire length of the prongs buried into his thigh. He's holding his thigh tightly with both hands and cringing, so I examine the wound and without thinking of the possible consequences I yank the fork out and push my clean handerchief on it as hard as I can to stop any possible bleeding; I yell to my other son the get me a large dish towel so I can make a tourniquet to hold while I drive him to the hospital emergency room. As I apply the tourniquet, I see that the wound is not even bleeding, luckily it didn't hit a vein or artery. Of course at the hospital they asked questions to assure that this was not parental abuse or such, and then they sort of chuckled at my son's story, gave him a tetanus shot, and we went home. He likes to show the four little scar marks in a row were the fork prongs were stuck in his thigh, I think he thinks of it as his stab of honor. Btw, my younger son didn't actually jab the fork into his brother, in anger he threw it from across the room and it just stuck in.

I got a couple more on me but I need a rest from all this typing.

I have a scar on my scrotum where I fell out of a tree aged about 5 and got tangled in a thorn bush.

I have scars across the heels of both hands where I came off my pedal bike onto gravel one day I was late for school and tried to turn the final corner into the driveway at full speed instead of walking up the drive.

I have a small scar between the 2nd and 3rd knuckles of my left hand where I dropped burning plastic on myself aged about 12 whilst trying to seal the end of a piece of nylon rope.

I have a scar across the side of my left thumb where I was chopping an onion and landed a very sharp very heavy kitchen knife in the wrong place. It was only stopped by my thumbnail but went half way to the bone. I was preparing a meal for myself at lunchtime on the day of my first A level exam (the ones you take to get into university in the UK). I wrapped it in kitchen paper, put my gloves on and cycled back to school for my exam. I'm left handed, so had to hold the pen in my fist. I passed well and got into uni.

My right index finger bears the marks of four teeth. I was feeding a shedding snake in a tank and the mouse wouldn't move, so she couldn't see it. In all of my 17-year-old brilliance, I reached in, flicked the mouse a bit, and then extracted my finger from the mouth of a 5.5" black florida pine snake. We never did gat along well after that. She tried to choke me 2 months later.

An ice cube once got caught in my snowcone maker that we used to make mixed drinks and basically because the water in Jax tastes terrible on certain sides of town. So I'd buy ice and shave it into my glass with the snow-cone maker. One got stuck. I tried to push it. I slashed a quarter inch circle of the tip of my right middle finger off.

I have hot glue scars on my fingers, a surgical scar from the removal of a gangilon cyst on my right wrist, peroneal tendon repair scar on my right ankle and a really funny one on my chest.

I was running through a bunch of underbrush at Girl Scout Camp when I was 16 or so (yes, I was, no the uniform was not attractive, and yes, I did get a kick-ass college scholarship for staying in) chasing the little kids. They ducked into a grouping of Australian Pine trees, and being the great leader that I was, I chased after the short little twits. And promptly stabbed myself in the chest with a sawed off branch. I have one of the three initial marks left on my right chest. It's quite funny. About 1.5 inches long in a perfectly straight, vertical line.

After writing all this, I'm starting to worry about the right side of me. :lol:

A lot of us seem to have gotten our hands mangled by animals.

As soon as I can get Grancey to get the camera, I'll have her take a photo of the back of my head. When I was two, we were watching The Outer Limits in the family den, and I got too terrified. I ran for the kitchen door, which was one of those restaurant-style swinging doors that opened both ways. As I hit the door, my big sister hit it from the other side coming INTO the room, and she's 10 years older (yes, Bill O'Rights, THAT sister). Even though I was running forward, the back of my head was the first thing to hit the ground, and that's never a good thing.

My head popped open like a watermelon, and my father scooped me up and loaded me into the car. They drove me to the doctor's house, and he had them hold me down in his recliner while he stitched up the back of my head.

There is still a scar back there, and the hair that grows from that spot is brown, even though the rest of my hair is fully redheaded.

/waiting breathlesly for Clavus to find this thread

I have two scars on my head and face from when I bust my head earlier this year

I also have a scar on my left hand from punching through a double glazed window

Two small scars on my right arm from insect bites that went funny a couple of years ago

I have have a scar on my left earlobe. When I was 7 or 8 I spun round and round in the kitchen to make myself dizzy. I slammed into the corner of the kitchen counter. There was a surprising amount of blood.

I have a long scar running vertically down the center of my abdomen - multiple surgeries.

I have a tiny little scar on my right knee.

I was in grade eight, visiting the Smithsonian. I was looking at the Hope Diamond, and tore my leg up on the case it was in. I left a little trail of blood through the room, and was generally pleased that the diamond really was bad luck.

The front of my chest and neck is covered in burn/skin graft scars. My back was where they grafted the skin from, so that's all scarred. The story's pretty simple. I was 13 and I had a lighter, bottle of cologne, and penchant for lighting things on fire.

I have a scar on my wrist from a cot falling on me when I was five. My cousins and I were lifting the cot in the air and watching it fall. I didn't get out of the way quick enough on the last go.

I have a scar on my head from getting beaned with a lunch box in third grade. I still won that fight...

I have a scar on the opposite side of my head from crashing into my sister with my bike when I was like ten. We were going down a hill and I ran into her. I slid about ten feet with her and my bike on top of me.

I have several small, self-inflicted burn scars on my arms and hands just from fucking around.

I have a scar on my upper arm from getting stabbed with a small knife that was aimed for my ribs. I also won that fight...

Punk reminds me that I have a tiny scar right in the centre of my chest where I was stabbed in a music lesson when I was 14 (with a nail file, no less).

A guy I sort of got on with, but wasn't a mate (called Kieron) stole a manicure set from a girl in the class, and started pretending to fence with me. I was ignoring him (sat across the table from him) when he made his coup de gras, stopping before he hit home, and snagging the front of my uniform shirt.

About ten minutes later, I sat up straight and the shirt made contact with the blood that had been seeping out of a tiny wound I hadn't felt.

The teacher practically shat himself, because it looked to him like I'd gone from clean white shirt to bright red chest - I think he was expecting an alien to burst out of my chest. I hadn't noticed it until Kieron pointed it out.

The school nurse was called, and I was disinfected and forced to go home in her car - half way through the school day, and with my bike left at school.

I gave my bike lock key to Kieron, who rode it home to my house.

I met him in a pub 20 years later, and it turns out he didn't remember it at all.

I have three pretty decent-sized scars on the back and side of my head...two of them are from the fight, the third is from the reconstructive surgery on my face. Lesson learned on that day was not to assume you can count on people in a pinch. I have to explain those every time I go to get my haircut and the person assumes they made a huge mistake on my head. I also have a tiny neat-o scar on my left eyelid from the same incident...

Pretty decent scars on both my elbows when I was mountain biking in the rockies of CO and flipped over the handlebars onto a gravel service road...

Someone bit me once during a fight, so now i have a nice bite-mark scar on my right hand by my thumb...

What else...both the knees, but I think most people have at least one good one there from the experience of being a kid...


I do agree about the scars being a better souvenir than a tattoo. I like tats, but not because of the story (oh hey yeah I got this one when I went into the tattoo parlor and said, hey, please give me this tattoo! and the guy was like, sweet.)...

Daniel's story reminded me of a scar I have on my left palm at the base of my index finger from when my left hand was fencing with my right hand using steak knives. Suddenly things got out of hand, so to speak, and my right stabbed my left. It hurt, but no stitches. hmmm, revenge?


A similar small scar I have on my right palm from this incident. In Philadelphia the streets department came around about once a year to clean out the sewer inlets on each corner...which I think we called "inglets". We used to watch them lift off the cast iron covers and reach down with long fork-like scoopers to pull out all the muck and debris which they'd load on their truck. When we saw them pull a good ball out (lost during street ball games) we'd grab it, usually take it home and wash it and have another good ball. Well one time I saw this shiney thing drop out of the scoop of sewer garbage, all dripping with stinking sewer juice, but I picked it up and saw that it was one of those dental tools, long stainless piece with a very small curved hook on the end. I don't know what made me do it, but I suddenly threw it high up into the air and when it came down I reached out to catch it...sploosh! right into my right palm about half way through but luckily didn't hit bone or blood. I tried pulling it out but that little reverse curve hook made it impossible. So I got on the trolley and went to the hospital where they gave me some shots, pushed it through, cut off the curved hook, and pulled it out. Another scar of stupidity. :shakehead:

I remember that.

I have a half inch long scar on my chin that I got when I was a toddler. I wish there was a cool story behind it, but apparently I just cut my chin on the concrete patio when I fell down once. I really need to come up with a cool story to tell about it. It is only really noticeable now if I go a day or two without shaving, but it looks pretty cool since it is just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to drastically alter my appearance.

Tried to attach my picture - it is already on tfp:

http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/tilted-...tle-scars.html

http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/attachm...rs-myscars.jpg

I was riding my bike home to meet my parents. I was riding on the footpath and going pretty fast. I always thought the footpath on a really bust road was safest, but this day I was to be proven wrong.

About halfway home, a water board truck comes out of their depot, and I have a split second to think 'oh fuck, I'm in some serious tro....' before crashing into the side of the truck.

I hit so hard, my helmet was completely squashed, and the frame of my bike, just behind the front forks, was ripped apart.

Some (many??) seconds later I woke up with a bunch of workmen looking down at me. They took me down to the local hospital.

I met my parents that day....in the emergency ward!

another one...I have a pretty nasty looking gash about 6 inches (~15.2 cm) long down my upper left arm below my shoulder. When my now 14 y.o. son was about 2 years old and had been sick for a couple days, I was sitting in our den holding him. Suddenly, he heaves and starts to throw up all over the place so I pick him up under his two little arms aiming his face in front of me so it doesn't get all over me, as I run toward the kitchen. As I get to the tile floor in the kitchen, I suddenly slip on his slimey vomit, my feet shoot straight out forward as I'm falling backwards still holding him arms length out hoping he doesn't get hurt. During my fall, as my arm passed the sharp corner of our stove it ripped my arm open. But we live happily ever after, anyway.

It's about 3 inches long and about 23 years old and hard to see if you don't know what you're looking for.

In Grade 6 I was climbing a tree when the thin branch I was standing on broke.

I fell straight down and my belly snagged on the sharp stub of the broken branch, gashing it open. I was maybe 5 feet off the ground so was otherwise unhurt.

The gash was deep enough that I could see the layer of fat below my skin but oddly, it didn't bleed at all and closed up clean. I'm proud of it.

I've told this story before on here, so I won't go into detail.

I have a scar from one side of my forehead to the other (which also bisects my right eyebrow) in the shape of an "M" that looks remarkably like a McDonald's logo "M".

I flew over my 4-wheeler handlebars and plowed the dirt with my head, flaying open my forehead from my hairline to just below my right eyebrow.

Later on, we joked that McDonalds ought to pay us for advertizing space.

It's less noticeable now, but you can see it from about 5 feet away, and my right eyebrow is in two pieces now. Also, on the left side of my forehead, the scar cut into my hairline and now I have an irregular island of hair growing there about the size of a nickel.

My last couple of haircuts I've requested it not be cut in that patch. I'm gonna grow it long and braid it. :thumbsup:

ugh, my stories all suck.

scars on the top and bottom of my right foot from dropping a drill with the bit in it through my foot as a small child. thats what i get for tryin' to help.

got a nice gash on the back of my head from cracking my skull on the pavement attempting to skateboard.

burn mark on my right forearm while teaching myself to iron clothes.

multiple cuts on my thumbs between my thumb nail and knuckles trying to learn to sharpen knives. (again, i was young)

a cut on the top of my right index finger from opening a swiss army knife and cutting myself to the bone on an already opened blade. (i was 5-ish, lesson learned)

deep scars on my right hand from losing a fight with a window.

gash on the inside of my right ankle from leaping across a small creek and landing on branch sticking out of the mud.

right index finger was cut to the bone on the knuckle when my pocket knife decided it wasnt going to stay locked.

...i know i have a few more, but im done searching my body and rediscovering past fuck-ups.

Scars are awesome. My scars are all pretty small.

I have one on my forehead from when, age two, the kids my mom looked after hung my sweater on hinge where a door used to be. I fell from the stool I used to get my sweater and hit my head on the lower hinge. Two stiches.

I have one on my chin. The forks on my wicked bike snapped as I went over a speed bump (I'd weakened the place where my forks met the frame a week or so earlier when I lost control of my bike walking it down a steep hill and it crashed into a post) I went over the handlebars and used my chin to stop my fall on the concrete. Two stitches, no freezing (I hated needles).

I have a small one on my wrist where I was cut playing a version of Mumblety-peg with a friend.

I also have a good-sized one on my stomach where my appendix was removed. There is a long story with that one. Suffice it to say that I am married to my wife because of my appendix. Cosmic sledgehammer came calling and let me know that my course of action was not correct.

pffft - amateur - my story above - 27 stitches in my chin, 3 between my mouth and nose and one in my (broken) nose. That's a bike accident :)

A had a competition with my cousins for stitches when I was younger - my cousin broke his leg badly and after waking up from the general anaesthetic, asked "how many stitches?", to which the doctor replied "one". He'd done a continuous stitch from ankle to knee - my cousin felt sooo ripped off.

I realize two stitches aren't much but to kids that's maybe 5 or 6... it's a big deal.

I haven't many stitches... not that you can see. Most of mine were inside my body.

i flipped my aunt's car off the side of a mountain road and all i have from that is a tiny scar on my knee from the glass i had to crawl through to get out.

i have a scar on my wrist from the disinfectant i use at work. a tiny drop mark.

and i recently discovered i have a slice shaped scar under my chin. i have no idea what it's from.

/still waiting on Clavus...

At a party Saturday night (the one where Grancey hurt her foot throwing darts), there were several people who confessed to having some sort of permanent pencil graphite stain under their skin. Do any of you have one?

P.S. - this thread needs more pictures!

Oh I just thought of another.

I used to do hair for a living. I was chopping away at this Indian guy's rug - seriously, you know how thick their hair can be?? It's insane. I was trying to hurry up and get it over with when *slice* - I hit the middle finger right at the joint on my left hand. Lots o' blood. Super clean cut since it was done with hair cutting shears, but since it was at the joint, I still needed 7 stitches to keep it closed.

It just looks like an extra fold of skin now.

Most of my scars are pretty tame. I'm not particularly accident prone, nor have I had any surgeries. But for the sake of the thread:

I have a scar on my chin from when I was a kid in elementary school and wore slippery shoes to school. I enjoyed sliding around on the freshly waxed floor outside of my friend's classroom. Suffice it to say, I slid too much and landed chin-first on the floor. Owww. I ended up with a weird blood blister that left a reddish scar in its place.

I have scars on my knuckles from playing lacrosse in high school, a little dent on my thumb where I got myself with a knife, a hook-shaped scar on my left index finger due to an accident while cutting bar lemons (ow) and my right middle finger looks horribly funny because I slammed it in the front door when I was 8. The door had a metal edge, and sliced my finger open to the bone along one side. I have a knot of scar tissue along the side with a longer line of it extending around the tip of my finger.

I have a white scar on my neck that is quite obvious, but I'm pretty sure most people figure it's just from having a mole removed. Nope. It's from having a tumor biopsied. I have benign tumors attached to nerve endings in my neck. Joy.

I also possess an assortment of scars on both knees from various accidents as a child and since.

That's about it.

this makes me cringe. i do hair and i really hope this never happens to me. my friend did the same thing once when she was cutting mine and she called out for about a week.

My most interestingly shaped one also has the most wussy story: I cut myself in front of an annoying customer, trying to cut the ziptie off of a set of juggling sticks, right when she said "Be careful! Don't cut yourself!"

I didn't give her the satisfaction of knowing I had cut myself, but pinched the blade into the cut to keep it from bleeding, calmly had one of the other cashiers finish her transaction, and went into the back room to pull the blade out of my hand, at which point it started bleeding. A lot. I probably should have gotten stitches, but meh. Nothing a little bandaid wouldn't fix.


http://img224.imageshack.us/img224/5917/knifeyik6.gif

Yeah I was out for a little under a week I think. Workman's comp ftw lol. Although it wasn't much!
Props for the animated gif replay.

As I said above - substitute "nut-sack" for "belly" and that's my story...

Yep, stabbed with a pencil in second grade - can still see it in my left palm, 30 odd years later. I doubt it would show up on a photo though.

I have a bad scar on my left knee that I got when I was in the 7th grade. My brother and I would wait on our front porch for the bus every morning and then rush out to the road to get on. One morning the porch was wet and I slipped, missed the two steps and landed on the concrete walk in front of it. Of course I'm mortified that everyone on the bus saw me and I couldn't act like I was hurt, so I rushed onto the bus and into a seat and cried silently all the way to school. When I got home after school my mom asked me what happened to my jeans (they were ripped up pretty bad). Then the thing got infected and my dad would hit it with the gear shift when we rode in the truck. Took all summer for it to heal.

I also have gall bladder scars. The sugery wasn't bad...it was the allergic reaction I had to the nausea medicine. I was in the ER getting a Benadryl push on midnight of 1/1/2000.

I have scars on my calves from sliding while playing softball in school. Only sissies wear sliding pads, right? :rolleyes: I also have a cleat mark on the other side of the knee mentioned above from playing softball.

I have a lot of others, but I can't remember where/when they came from.

(waits for Gucci to post something about his wounded emo soul)

Ah yeah I forgot about three: wrist, arm, shoulder, from a motorcycle crash. No major soul scarrings, those all pretty much healed over. No nutsack injuries either...

:eek::confused::no:

I got two at the same time; a half-dollar-sized circle on my right knee, and an oval, 1" x 2" long one on my left elbow, trying to teach some friends in Ohio how to skateboard.

Now, most of you might equate learning how to skateboard with learning how to ride a bike - i.e, there are pieces of equipment professionally made to help with the process, and safety equipment to wear.
But no - this was back in the old days when life was tough - even in the few hours we didn't spend hiding from dinosaurs.

I had just returned from a family vacation in California, visiting my cousins in Santa Cruz, where the surfers had just started experimenting with combining surfing and skating.
It was new and exciting, and I couldn't wait to share it with my friends when I got back to Ohio. Of course, there were no skateboard makers yet, so we did what we could to improvise - we bought some two-by-fours; cut them to length, and nailed the wheels of our roller skates to the bottom side.

In those days, roller skate wheels were small and made of metal. It didn't take much in the way of debris to bring one of those wheels to a screeching halt, so most of our time was spent sweeping gravel out of the way before we could use our homemade skateboards.

Then, one glorious day, the street behind us got re-blacktopped (The name of the street was Hilltop Drive). We waited until the equipment made it a quarter-mile down the street , and set off down a gravel-free, crack-free, virgin hill of smooth asphalt.

The only problem was (and we didn't discover this until it was too late) the asphalt was still soft. A lot of the kids bailed right away, but since I was, after all, the teacher, I was in front of them all and screaming down the hill in the center of the road; going full speed. About halfway down the hill, as the small metal wheels dug into the soft, warm asphalt, I started to fishtail back and forth; yet still gained speed as I went downhill. At one point, near the bottom of the hill, I knew I was about to wipe out, so I jumped off the board, hoping to run to the side of the road before I fell hard.

It wasn't to be, though, as there was no way I could run as fast as I was going when I jumped off. I hit the road hard, and tumbled and rolled to a stop, just shy of the forgiving grass at the edge of the road.

Oh, the price we pay, we pioneers.

I did this to my left index finger - right next to the nail. I'd made an avacado sandwich and was trying to cut a lemon to put on juice on the sandwich. the knife was blunt and I slipted. it was blunt enough not to cut the lemon but clearly not blunt enough to cut me.


not my story - but a good friend of mine was holding a piece of wood for her dad who was using an electric saw cut neearly her whole index finger off and cut half way through her other 3 fingers. they manged to stich them back on but she can't bend them well and has quite inpressive scares.


Oh and I was an emo teenager and have knife scars all over my left arm and legs.

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Didn't need to read anything past this sentence.