Where Did You Get Those Scars?

Is a question I get asked on a semi-regular basis. My forearms are cris-crossed with scars, most a pink-red colour. The majority of people are to embarrassed to ask, but some people have no such qualms. Frankly, I don't really care if they ask or not.
However, the old saying that you should 'never let the truth get in the way of a good story' is too hard to resist, so when people ask 'where did you get those scars', I often just make up a story on the spot. A nice, simple answer is 'From Target. They were 25% off', but it's more enjoyable to see their expression when I tell them some utter bullshit. Here, then, is a recent story I made up.

'When I was a kid, I grew up in a small Dorset village called Tillsbury, in the south of England. It was pretty rural, I guess, at least as rural as you can be in Britain these days. I wasn't very popular with the local kids, I think mainly because of my French accent. Anyway, one day, I was at the park, and some kids came over and asked if I wanted to play a game. Always eager to be accepted, I hastily agreed, and we went down to Caemlyn River, which was really just a large stream.
There were more kids there, and one of them said that his father had recently been to Mexico on a business trip, and had brought him back a capybara. I said that that was pretty awesome, even though I had no idea what a capybara was. The kid went on and said that it had escaped from its cage and was hiding in the trunk of an oak, a few hundred feet downstream.
Apparently, most of the other kids had been to scared to try and fish it out, and would I be interested in having a go?
Naturally, I jumped at the chance, and they led me down to a massive tree by the side of the water. Bored into the trunk was a hole, the interior made dark by the canopy of leaves above us. As forbidding as it seemed, I was so desperate to be one of the gang, I instantly shoved my hands in, to try and find whatever this capybara creature was.
Of course, there was no such thing, and the kids had simply filled the hole with dog shit, which my searching hands found rather quickly. The smell hit me instantly, but I put on a brave face and kept my hands in the hole, while the kids began to laugh.
As they stood there laughing and jeering, I wondered how I was going to get out of this situation with any kind of dignity. That's when the pain started. I remember screaming and trying to pull my hands out of the trunk, the smell of dog shit invading my nostrils. My hands were held fast, however. It felt like something was trying to eat my arms, and my attempts to pull free only caused more pain.
After what seemed like an eternity, whatever creature hid inside that dark hole released me, and I pulled out my tattered arms, blood running like a river onto the ground around me. I held my arms out for help, towards the gathered kids, but they just screamed and ran. I must have passed out then, because the next time I awoke, I was in the hospital. And these scars are what remain of that day'.