An upturned hoe lying in the yard. Just like in the cartoons, the handle levered up and whacked me upside the head. I stumbled around in a bit of a daze wishing someone else had been responsible but dang if I wasn’t the only one there.
I have a similar one. I stepped on a Lego COVERED in cat vomit once. Disgusting and painful! (I was wearing socks at the time too, so I feel your pain, Eve)
This doesn’t go with the theme of the thread, but the worst thing I’ve ever stepped on was a fledgling bird that fell out of a nest. It was on it’s last legs, and I had to put it out of it’s misery. It really bugged me for quite a few days. Even now I hate the fact that I had to do it.
I find myself surprised that, in the present multi-talented company, I am the only one to come forward and admit to having stepped on my own penis.
Yes, I can see the raised-eyebrow smileys already. Let me try to illustrate the scenario as best as I can.
Somewhere between 12 and 15 years ago i was a few stone lighter and a good bit more limber. One evening after the current girlfriend and I were done with our favorite conjugal activity, I was sitting on the bed cross-legged and quite as naked as the day I was born.
I was suddenly seized by the urge to get up and get something or other. Being young(-er) thin(-ner) and limber(-er(?)) I felt the best way to accomplish this was to turn my right leg inward so my foot was flat on the bed, very close to the region that was lately the source of much happy diversion.
I failed to register the fact that a certain piece of anatomy had its tip tucked happily under the arch of my foot. I gave a good flex of my leg muscles to get myself off the bed. Then I found myself flat on my back a moment later. It seems that the cartilage in the male reproductive organ only stretches so far, so as I tried to rise, the extension limit was reached and I was tethered to the bed by a relatively short piece of wedding tackle. Over I went , laughing hysterically at my own stupidity and feeling as if someone had tried to make me a neuter by ripping it out by the root.
See, you’re lucky because in my house, my scared-of-hospitals father liked to do procedures like that at home. :eek:
I think I’m scared to leave the office; I had no idea the world was so full of peril.
cashoe you big goof. You should post more often. 
I don’t know why this weirded me out so much, but as a [squealie girl] teen, I scuffed an enomous black spider with my bare foot. I didn’t step on it; the sole of my feet merely lightly brushed its topside … which I realized only seconds after it occurred, when I saw the fuzzball I thought I’d brushed continue to scurry off across the wood floor. <shudder>
Coming home later than expected from an alcohol-laden night out with the guys, and wishing to slip into bed without rousing the wife, I removed my shoes on the porch and entered the foyer sans incandescence. From memory and touch, I made my way down the 3 steps to the linoleum-floored kitchen. My pulse quickened when, instead of feeling the cool, hard floor through my thin socks, I felt something warm, pliable and…crunchy. I heard a mewling yelp…and then, whooops, my pre-gastric bypass 316lb heft slides Ice Capades-like forward approximately 5 feet before pirouetting out of control. Both feet shoot skyward and I land—hard—on my bountiful bum. Except…it wasn’t really a hard landing, as I expected it to be…it was rather warm, pliable and…crunchy through the seat of my gabardine pants. In fact, it felt suspiciously like what I felt moments ago, through my sock—only more so. I heard a few more mewling yelps. Then silence. Then a lower pitched, “meowww.” I didn’t want to turn on the lights to assess the damage, but I did. It was worse than I expected. Tally: 3 kittens dead; one maimed. Winky, Blinky and Dinky would bat balls of yarn no longer and Stinky could only limp-crawl to his mother’s teat from this day forward. The mournful look of anguish on mamma Tibby’s face burned painfully in my mind. I vowed never to drink to excess, ever again. Never. Sometimes good things come from bad. Happy endings can gel from ignorant, sad beginnings. I’d like to say this was the case in my story. Unfortunately, I can’t. Two weeks to the day after the terrible feline carnage, the same fate befell Stinky. *Stinky *ended up flattened on the seat of my trousers. Tibby was left kitten-less…and with a severe tail contusion (later to become gangrenous and fall off). I vowed never again to drink to excess. Never. Ever. Well, unless they’re serving top shelf scotch for happy hour.
One of my cockatiels.
Fortunately for both of us, I pulled my foot up just in time and only left him dazed.
Intestines.
Not animal.
You crushed four kittens to death while drunk? And you still drink? Please, for god’s sake, tell me you’re making this up.
Didn’t step on one but once, at SeaShore State park in VA i had a Jelly Fisf go into my swimming trunks…I think I win this Jellyfish debate. 
Didn’t step on one but once, at SeaShore State park in VA i had a Jelly Fish go into my swimming trunks…I think I win this Jellyfish debate.
Hey dwc1970 I have seeing you in too many threads now and sensed a…connection…now you reveale we have the same birthday…hmmmm… :dubious: jusk kiddin’ (bout the dubious eye thingie) I’m a 02/25/60’er.
FTR…nastiest thing I have EVER stepped on…??..not sure, done most of the above…wierdest was a dead guy upsidedown in mud with a Cat front in loader on top off him…we didn’t even know he was there cause we had already rescued the driver and another kid that jumped off in the nick of time…the front- end loader had gone off a private bridge over a swollen creek…sad night for all.
tsfr
op’s… 2X post…MOD…can you help me out of this one??
thanks,
tsfr
Easy, a frog.
I was a kid, walking down the road BAREFOOT, one lovely spring evening and…squish!
Spent the rest of the night sitting in the corner going EWWEWWEWWEWWEWWEWW.
Sorry, Kermit.
A bee, in the driveway, while I was barefoot. It stung me right under the big toe, leaving me in agony for at least five minutes.
Three way tie: dog crap bare footed, big ass cockroach barefooted, and an old rusty 16d nail.
A banana slug, barefoot in the grass.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!
Ah, memories. One of the not-so-stellar classmates in my gross anatomy lab dropped a cadaver’s nipple on the floor on which I stepped, slid and fell. I’m not squeamish, but scraping it off the bottom of my shoe wasn’t pleasant. I’m just glad I sprained my ankle instead of sustaining a concussion necessitating a trip to the hospital. That would have been difficult to explain to the ER staff.
Before PETA comes knocking at my door to vivisect my entrails, let me explain to those in doubt: my kitten-squashing story (post #67) was pure fabrication—nothing more than a feeble attempt to bring a measure of levity to those Dopers inclined toward black humor. For what it’s worth: I do have a cat named Tibby, but he is a neutered male (with an intact tail); I am a svelte 245lbs and I rarely drink to excess. I did step on a hamster named Zippy once, but I was thin and sober at the time.
Thank heavens… I felt the smallest whoosh, but I was too horrified at the thought of squashed kitties to analyze it further. I’ve got to look into getting this soft heart reinforced. 
Heh. Serves you right, ya big lummox!
I’ve had the straight pin in the foot, with the added frisson of bleeding all over my new off-white carpet. But nothing beats stepping on my own kicked-off stilettos for sheer irony.