I have two stories...
Number One - When I was thirteen, (only a little while ago) I used to collect cheapo knives, and the occasional "combat" looking kitchen knife. Well one day after my uncle passed away, we goto a old storage room he had and start going through all the stuff, I find a old Buck. Now I'm all happy, especially as it was my first experience with a truly razor sharp knife. When the storage assistant comes by to ask what we're going to keep, I showed him the knife, a safe box, and some other random items. Now the guy looks at the knife and laughs (real @sshole) and says "Thank piece of crap wont do $hit for you" and pulls a Frost (?) fixed blade, about 8 inches long and says "Now THIS is a real knife".
I say "Well I'm happy with this". He pulls it out of my hand opens it and proceeds to stab it into a box sitting nearby. I was stupefied as to his boldness, but I assumed he would wind up making an ass of himself. Well anyway, the moron had stabbed into a box containing various pots and pans, the slipjoint closed, opening his fingers. His index finger was barely connected to his hand and his other fingers were gushing. A week later my mother called the facility and asked about his condition, he had been fired, and had had to receive 23 stitches.
Number Two - Using a old steak knife I had blunted, I was trying various spins and flips with it in my basement, well to make a short story shorter, despite being fully dull it still was able to transfer a great amount of force in a very small area. I dropped it and it fell and dislocated my toe. Lesson learned.