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Guy i worked with in high school got his fingers stuck in pizza dough machine.
Steel rollers that go in opposite direction with pizza crust tolerance.

His fingers looked like soggy french fries that had been run over by a truck when the EMTs got him unstuck

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I slept on my arm wrong, it damaged a nerve in the arm that sends motor signals to the hand, and I lost function of my right hand for a month.

Try shaving or brushing your teeth with your left hand if you're ever bored.

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Fellow worked as a propane/gas delivery man.  While he was screwing a cap on a gas bottle, a tiny steel splinter became lodged in his finger.  He took a pen knife and tried to work it out.

He developed an infection and toxic shock.  He was dead within 36 hours.

Woman working at Taco Bell got her breast caught in a tomato wedger and severed her nipple.

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After my freshman year of college, I went back home for the summer.
After a year of drinking beer, fishing, hiking and doing just about everything but school, I was pretty much broke. Since I wanted to continue drinking beer, fishing, hiking, etc. I figured I needed a job.
One of my buddies was managing a Denny's at night and told me all about the crazy tips the bar crowd would leave.  I thought it sounded like a pretty good idea since I could work at night and have days free to do as I pleased.
It turned out to actually be kind of a fun gig. It was kind of a trashier mishmash of "Waiting," "Clerks," and "The Slamming Salmon."
Late nights were awesome. We got the bar crowd looking to sober up and the late night regulars with all their ridiculous stories.
Every once in a while, people would bring their drama with them from whatever bar or club they were at and brief shouting matches and scuffles were pretty common.
One night, I was dropping off an order to one of our lonely regulars in the corner booth when two "600 Pound Life" candidates started talking shit to each other at the booths on either side of him.
It wasn't all that unusual, so late-night-loner-Larry chuckled and told me it looked like another show was brewing.
About the time I got back to the counter, I heard Titans colliding behind me and the sound of two brutes fencing with cured hams.
I turned and saw two of the biggest women I'd ever laid eyes on going at it. The corpulent monstrosity of a Staypuft walrus was pulling gobs of weave out of the mastodon's hair and the wooly mammoth was using her talons to scoop the fromunda from the aquatic mammal's facial folds. Meanwhile, the surrounding tables were being thrown asunder, sending sticky spatterings of syrup and jelly on and around all the nearby patrons.
Now, I don't mean to brag or nothing, but I'm pretty goddamn big and strong; I knew that I was going to be the only one capable of separating the gargantuan women and breaking up the maelstrom. I propelled all 5'7", 175lbs of well-caffeinated college kid into the midst of the adipose-altercation. I had my size, strength, and confidence going for me, I knew I'd have it sorted with a quickness: I was wrong.
I was consumed into the fracas and learned what it felt like to become part of an unholy Cronenberg-esque abomination. I could not disengage, the roiling mass of humanity would not let me go. I was getting punched, scratched, pounded, sandwiched; I bought the ticket now I had to take the ride. Some eternity later, the gladiatrices ended their rampage and left in their wake a scene of utter bedlam with a thoroughly defeated Dylan at the nucleus of their wanton destruction.
When the dust had settled, it fell on us lowly employees to pick up the remnants of our once proud dining establishment. Somewhere between dislodging part of a weave from a ceiling fan and replacing loner-Larry's Moons Over My Hammy due to a fake fingernail finding its way onto his dinner, I realized that I had some red liquid all down the front of me. At first I hoped it was jelly or some kind of syrup, but the consistency was wrong. I was then horrified at the prospect that one of the beasts and spilled its gore on me. After removing my uniform shirt, what had happened became all too clear. I had claw marks from under my left armpit, up to my right shoulder and, in the middle of the marks where a fleshy nub had once resided, was a bloody nipple root, only hinting at my left pec's former glory.

Copied from my post in the last thread we did like this

Quoted:
Friend shot half his left index finger off with a SBR.    Surprisingly little blood or pain.  Other than a very short left index finger, few repercussions.
Another friend was running his planer, a large one with spiral carbide inserts.   Shut it off, waited awhile, stuck his left hand in to pull out some chips or sawdust.  High mass drum was still spinning at a good clip.  Lost the tips of several fingers.  Lots of issues with the hand still years later.   It probably would have been a cleaner cut if it had been under power and possibly cleaner if it had been knives instead of inserts.
When my brother was a teenager, a pony bit his dick severely (through his pants).

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A Vietnamese dude I used to work with had a family member killed by a falling durian fruit.

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My aunt, literally stopped to smell the roses, tripped and broke her neck.

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My old neighbor had a worn out tire mounting machine that someone else had thrown away. I brought him a tire to change and saw that it looked very unsafe. There was a worn out lever rod that he had to hold down on as the tire and wheel rotated. He laughed because I started walking backwards due to how wobbly the lever bar was that he was holding onto.
The lever bar had a j-hook welded onto it that worked well to hang it on the wall when not in use. A few days later he was dismounting a tire in order to collect aluminum wheels for scrap weight. Think he was getting 25cents a pound. The lever bar ejected from its ratio point, popped up and the j-hook made a ~.32 caliber perfectly round hole in his forehead that was deep and black inside.

Then 2 weeks later he was in the hospital, nearly died of blood poisoning. Evidently he was up on an 8’ ladder trimming tree branches after a storm. He cut a branch under tension which allowed the other branch to smash him in his recent forehead wound. Knocked him off the ladder and his forehead hemorrhaged.

More recently he was snagging cut-up logs from the side of the road. A passer by found him cold and dead as a doornail. The chainsaw was still a bit warm though. He had a major heart attack and died on the side of the road. The saw ran until the fuel tank was empty.

He had a way of working harder, not smarter.

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I worked with a guy that broke his ankle just walking down the hallway at work, didn't slip and fall or anything.

Quoted:

Um, I cut the same part of thumb off, twice. The exact same spot. Smooth there now and you can tell a chunk is missing.

Quoted:
After my freshman year of college, I went back home for the summer.
After a year of drinking beer, fishing, hiking and doing just about everything but school, I was pretty much broke. Since I wanted to continue drinking beer, fishing, hiking, etc. I figured I needed a job.
One of my buddies was managing a Denny's at night and told me all about the crazy tips the bar crowd would leave.  I thought it sounded like a pretty good idea since I could work at night and have days free to do as I pleased.
It turned out to actually be kind of a fun gig. It was kind of a trashier mishmash of "Waiting," "Clerks," and "The Slamming Salmon."
Late nights were awesome. We got the bar crowd looking to sober up and the late night regulars with all their ridiculous stories.
Every once in a while, people would bring their drama with them from whatever bar or club they were at and brief shouting matches and scuffles were pretty common.
One night, I was dropping off an order to one of our lonely regulars in the corner booth when two "600 Pound Life" candidates started talking shit to each other at the booths on either side of him.
It wasn't all that unusual, so late-night-loner-Larry chuckled and told me it looked like another show was brewing.
About the time I got back to the counter, I heard Titans colliding behind me and the sound of two brutes fencing with cured hams.
I turned and saw two of the biggest women I'd ever laid eyes on going at it. The corpulent monstrosity of a Staypuft walrus was pulling gobs of weave out of the mastodon's hair and the wooly mammoth was using her talons to scoop the fromunda from the aquatic mammal's facial folds. Meanwhile, the surrounding tables were being thrown asunder, sending sticky spatterings of syrup and jelly on and around all the nearby patrons.
Now, I don't mean to brag or nothing, but I'm pretty goddamn big and strong; I knew that I was going to be the only one capable of separating the gargantuan women and breaking up the maelstrom. I propelled all 5'7", 175lbs of well-caffeinated college kid into the midst of the adipose-altercation. I had my size, strength, and confidence going for me, I knew I'd have it sorted with a quickness: I was wrong.
I was consumed into the fracas and learned what it felt like to become part of an unholy Cronenberg-esque abomination. I could not disengage, the roiling mass of humanity would not let me go. I was getting punched, scratched, pounded, sandwiched; I bought the ticket now I had to take the ride. Some eternity later, the gladiatrices ended their rampage and left in their wake a scene of utter bedlam with a thoroughly defeated Dylan at the nucleus of their wanton destruction.
When the dust had settled, it fell on us lowly employees to pick up the remnants of our once proud dining establishment. Somewhere between dislodging part of a weave from a ceiling fan and replacing loner-Larry's Moons Over My Hammy due to a fake fingernail finding its way onto his dinner, I realized that I had some red liquid all down the front of me. At first I hoped it was jelly or some kind of syrup, but the consistency was wrong. I was then horrified at the prospect that one of the beasts and spilled its gore on me. After removing my uniform shirt, what had happened became all too clear. I had claw marks from under my left armpit, up to my right shoulder and, in the middle of the marks where a fleshy nub had once resided, was a bloody nipple root, only hinting at my left pec's former glory.

Copied from my post in the last thread we did like this

Quoted:


In my 30s playing softball I watched a guy try to slide head first into 2nd.  He hit the ground and didn't slide so good which caused his leg to dislocate at the hip and come on around... the sound of that joint popping still gets to me.

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This wasn't an injury, but it was very nearly a serious and perhaps deadly mistake.

When my father was a kid he found what he thought was a smoke bomb on the ground after Independence Day.  The fuse was gone, so someone had lit it and the fuse had not burned all the way.  So my dad held a lighter to the fuse hole trying to light what was left, and even tried blowing the flame into the hole, but couldn't get it to light.  Finally he gave up and decided to just break it open and burn the powder.  He cut it open, and inside was silver powder.  It was a freakin' cherry bomb, that he almost blew up his hand and face with.  He said that when he saw that silver powder his whole life flashed before his eyes.

Then, a little later, his cousin found what he thought was a smoke bomb lying around in the same condition, no fuse.  He asked my dad to help him light it, and he wanted to hold it as it burned so that he could make smoke trails.  My dad, having learned a lesson from his near-death experience, said, "OK, slow down, let's not get all excited here."  So he took the "smoke bomb," drilled out the fuse hole a little, and stuck a cannon fuse into it.  His cousin was all excited, wanting to light it right away and hold it, but my dad said, "No, you can't hold it."  So he took it to a field and placed it on a fence post and lit it and ran away, and then thing blew the top of the post off.

So my dad almost killed himself with a cherry bomb, and then with that experience saved his cousin from killing himself.