sal wrote:Knife afi's are pretty far out, steel junky's more so, but "edge junky's" are just nuts.
SpyderEdgeForever wrote: Also, do you think a kangaroo would eat a bowl of spagetti with sauce if someone offered it to them?
Just reading that made me queasy.
bearfacedkiller wrote: ↑Mon Feb 24, 2020 8:19 amThose Camp 10s are great. I don’t love the handle but it is a great value and chops well.
My worst bites have not been Spydies. I cut the tip of my middle finger off at Boy Scout camp as a kid with an Old Timer Stockman. They stuck it back on with adhesive strips and it healed up ok. Looks good but has no feeling.
I had a twelve inch Bowie fall off a whiskey barrel planter I had set it on. It fell tip first into my bare foot. It stuck into a bone or it would have probably gone through my foot. The knife weighs about 1.3 pounds. I didn’t have much of a wound but the tip of my foot was sore for about a month.
This isn’t knife related but I once put a 1/16 inch drill bit through my fingertip. I had my hand on the backside of a piece of ductwork and was drilling through it. I thought my hand was clear but when the bit finally punched through it went in the pad of my finger and out through the middle of my nail. I pulled it out as fast as it happened and the bit never stopped spinning so it was quick at least. I like to think that I have a high pain threshold but I almost passed out and I almost threw up. I was on the roof my house and it was about 100 degrees out. Bad day!
Nice. Bet those ragged stitches left a cool pattern.
Hahah, I enjoy the way you write Rusty.. this was the most entertaining thing I've read on the internet in a while and just another solid example of why the forum needs a "like" button..RustyIron wrote: ↑Mon Feb 24, 2020 10:44 pmNice. Bet those ragged stitches left a cool pattern.
On the bright side, I'm sure you're MUCH smarter than you were when you didn't have that little reminder.
My stupi... uh... least wise... knife mishap was high atop a mountain in the dead of winter. We hiked all day to get to our intended camp. It was late. It was dark. It was cold. It was time to cook dinner. My friend was lighting getting the stoves and gear ready, and I reached into my pocket to grab my knife.
I'll bet you already know where this story is going.
My chosen knife was a a thin little Mel Pardue switchblade. It was button operated and there was a safety lever... which I never used. If you don't already know, I like my knives sharp, very sharp. As I jammed my hand into my pocket, I immediately knew something was severely amiss. It didn't hurt very badly, which is one of the benefits of slicing oneself with a very sharp knife. But it was clear what had happened. I recoiled in horror and grabbed the injured hand with the good one and squeezed tightly, because squeezing tightly is what you do in such situations.
It took several minutes of squeezing my hand, and cursing my foolishness, before I could muster the courage to look at it. But no matter how bad it might be, you eventually have to look. So look I did. And my hand was indeed cut. It was bad enough to need stitches, but walking off the mountain in the middle of the night in the freezing cold is even more foolhardy than carrying an unlocked switchblade in one's pocket. So I slopped antibiotic goop all over the wound, then taped it up.
After the first aid, wine was poured from the Platypus, fire built, and dinner cooked. Life returned to it's usual goodness, and everyone lived happily ever after.
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