Here are some facts* about toothpicks: Disturbing? Yes. But also enlightening. Do YOU know who has access to YOUR toothpicks?

No one has ever died because they DIDN’T have a toothpick.

Do the right thing: locate every one of these horrible, deadly weapons in the world and hide them in a box. Kill anyone who refuses to give up their stockpile of these horrible, deadly weapons. Bury the box full of horrible, deadly weapons somewhere secret. Create an intricate web of lies and deceit surrounding the True Location of the box full of horrible, deadly weapons. Kill anyone who mentions these horrible, deadly weapons.

Do your part: make the world a safer place for future generations. Unless someone takes worldwide responsibility for the proliferation of these horrible, deadly weapons, it will soon be too late.

* “Facts” may not be true.
** Margin of error: 96%
*** are not
Robyn, this girl I knew in elementary school, was stabbed in the kneecap by a toothpick.

Well, ok, so the toothpick didn't stab her... Her sister used the toothpick to stab her in the knee. She had to go to the hospital and walked around with crutches for a while. If I remember correctly, the toothpick managed to fracture her kneecap.

This is why I am careful around people with toothpicks. Fear the horrible, deadly weapons that are toothpicks.

One time, I had the misfortune of stepping on a (sharp, round-style) toothpick. Mind you, I didn't just step on it; I stepped into it. I managed to kick my bare foot at just the right angle, causing about 3/4" of the toothpick to disappear into the ball of my foot. Apparently, it was stuck in the carpet at just the right angle, giving it enough resistance to penetrate my flesh very deeply. It felt as if it had stopped right at the bone, and was probably the most intense pain I'd ever felt in my life.

I spent a few seconds trying to pull it out, but every time I attempted to do so, the flesh of my foot wanted to come with it. I'd pull the toothpick, and then the ball of my foot would bulge out miserably, which was quite terrifying, to say the least. Luckily my father was around at the time. The solution was to wrap my fingers around the ball of my foot, holding it firmly in place. My dad then yanked the toothpick out with full force, as I hollered in agony.

Strangely enough, not a drop of blood came out. The toothpick was stained red, and my foot hurt intensely for about two weeks straight. I had to hop on one foot or walk on the side of my foot, as I was too manly or stupid to use crutches.

The moral of the story is simple -- put your freakin' toothpicks in the garbage. I think I was the one responsible for dropping it on the carpet in the first place...

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