This is the one that still makes my wife shake her head and wonder how I made it adulthood:
So when I was about 12 or so, me and a buddy decided to rebuild his treehouse. To start, we wanted to rip out the boards that made a wall between two trees down on the first level. But why simply rip out the boards with a crowbar or claw hammer when you can make demolition itself more entertaining?
We found a toppled-over clothesline pole. A big sturdy metal one with a square pole about 3 inches on each side. A perfect (if somewhat skinny) battering ram. We would CHARGE the wall into submission! And how lucky for us that it was at the bottom of a slope!
So we lugged the pole to the top of the slope and got into position, him in front and me in the back. And down we went with a hearty "CHAAAARGE!"
...about two seconds before impact, I realized that carrying the hollow end of a large metal pole
directly in front of my stomach was probably a bad idea, given the way physics work with that whole inertia thing. I tried to yank the pole over beside me -- like my more intelligent friend up front -- and got about halfway before impact. Cue a young RedKing hitting the end of that suddenly not-moving pole like a piece of meat on a shish kabob. Thankfully, I had gotten it over to the lower right portion of my rib cage, so instead of skewering myself I just punched a hole right through the clothing and flesh and stopping at the ribs.
Hung suspended in mid-air for a couple of seconds, then flopped off and rolled further down the hill for another 20 yards or so. Cue friend running down and asking, "Are you okay?"
It healed pretty well considering we didn't go to the hospital or anything. I just have a small horizontal scar where the deepest part of the cut was. It was kinda freaky to peel my shirt off and see this perfect square sliced into me and see glints of white in the wound.