I win

It is, once in a great while, necessary for one to simply stand back and marvel at the result of an act of sublime human ingenuity. Einstein's Theory of Relativity. The moon landing. Zippers, Velcro, duct tape, and the way they can ensure there are exactly two scoops in every box.

Into this hallowed company would I like to place myself, for I, a humble man of limited intelligence and only passing familiarity with the various laws of the universe (i.e.: I trip, therefore I fall down), have accomplished a feat that many might have previously deemed laughably impossible -- or, at the very least, laughable.

I have managed, albeit superficially, to wound myself with floss, an item that occupies a space on the Human Lethality Scale somewhere between belly-button lint and a penchant for sitting alone in climate-controlled rooms with padded walls.

There are a few scenarios in which I can imagine someone causing injury to himself or another by way of a length of waxed string, but nearly all of them involve some kind of Goldbergian device terminating in a loaded shotgun. One notable exception consists of a hungry pirhana with floss knotted around its tail, swung about and applied at high speed to one's own face or that of some nearby unfortunate. I suppose it doesn't matter much what kind of fish it is... or whether it is a fish at all. Point being, none of the scenarios involve just one person, one short length of floss, and an apparently masochistic desire for passable dental hygiene.

I'm not entirely sure how I managed it myself, but manage it I did. I am the proud owner of one floss-inflicted gash on my right index finger, which twinges every time I type the letters U, J, H, N, or Y. You can imagine the pain that list just cost me, and I hope you duly appreciate the suffering I've endured thus far for your benefit.

Notify the authorities. I'll be here, awaiting my medal and giant check.