Once upon a time I stayed at the world famous Camp Woodward so I could ride my bike and be cooler than all the other kids at home who had never been.
A few days into my stay, I jumped a resi box jump and upon landing my bike violently slid out from under me and I landed horizontally with my stomach making contact with the side of the handlebars that were pointing straight up vertically.
(Yeah I was a chubby little fucker. You truly didn't think I have ALWAYS been the amazingly handsome and suave gentleman I am today, right?)
The crash left me with two nicely sized puncture wounds and a couple of blood clots that were the size of tangerines. Chicks dig seeing rock hard blood clots protruding out of your stomach under the skin.
If my handlebars weren't capped chances are I would have ruptured organs and died from internal bleeding or blood loss from the gaping hole it would have cut through my torso.
But I didn't die so whatever.
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