I wish I’d never visited the torture museum in Amsterdam. I can’t get some of the devices out of my head.
You aren’t supposed to actually use the devices on yourself, least of all so that they become permanently imbedded.
Crap, ***now ***you tell me!
Curse you! I’d managed to forget about that beastie for years.
Back in the late 90s, when the Internet was still new and wonderful to me, I was checking out stuff about tattoos and piercings and stumbled into a website for people who deliberately surgically mutilate their own genitalia. It was the plane-crash scenario in spades! It was utterly horrific, but I couldn’t stop clicking the “Next” button on the photo gallery. Yeesh!
I hear they want their “Choke Pear” back.
Yep. Add a Chekhov’s Gun to the mix and we might as well go for ice cream instead.
For me, it was learning that figs are inextricably entwined with the reproductive strategies of a species of wasp - so much so that every fig ever grown has bits of dead baby wasp in it. I can’t eat fig newtons anymore. (Note: I’m not entirely certain that this is true, but I’m too scared to go research it.)
Two words: Banana Phone.
I learnt that song a few weeks ago “thanks” to the SDMB, and it will never leave my life. 
Richard Dawkins did a chapter on this relationship in one of his books. He didn’t specifically address the dead-baby-wasp content of fig newton, however.
It’s one of my best friend’s ring tones. 
I have to say that I easily resisted every farking linkie provided in this twisted thread, but the one that had no link…could I resist?
Oh no: Banana phone
I wish I hadn’t learned that Mr Rogers was never in the Marines and was never a sniper, so I wouldn’t bash my head against a wall attempting to convince people that the story isn’t true.
I so want to go to this museum! With my kids! I need more details!
Yeah, and we’d do Anne Frank’s house, too. But a Torture Museum! SCHWEEEET!