Your Body Hates You: 6 Gruesome Disorders Anyone Can Get

You are the picture of health. You get adequate rest and nutrition, your personal hygiene is beyond reproach and you never even touch yourself inappropriately. And none of it fucking matters.

Your body, probably bitter that it doesn't house someone more interesting, can without warning turn you into a creature so ridiculous the duck billed platypus would avert its eyes in shame. If it really wanted to be a dick, here's how your body would do it.

That Sounds Fancy. What is it?

Not everyone can be a supermodel. Sure, a flawless complexion and refined bone structure is a prerequisite for Cracked writers, but we understand it's an unfair standard to hold you slobs to. All that is important is you realize that your staggering unattractiveness makes you a unique and beautiful snowflake and the keratotic horn sprouting from your head just makes you that much more exotic.

Cornu cutaneum is more specifically an epidermal lesion common to the face, ears, nose, forearms and hands. If the image is striking a particularly National Geographic tone with you, it's because the horn is actually made of the same substrates that form a rhinoceros horn. It's pretty similar in construction to those horns as well, though of course the human equivalent isn't anchored to anything. Remember that distinction when the other kids on the playground taunt you about your horn so you can counter with "Shut up! Histologically, this isn't a horn because no axially positioned bone is present!" It's sure to stun them into silence before they laugh and beat the crap out of you.

We're just kidding about that last part. You don't have to be worried about being brutalized because of your horn. We guarantee no one will ever dare to touch you again after seeing it.

I'm Scared. How Scared Should I Be?

Think of the horns as a pop-up turkey timer. When one erupts from the otherwise placid surroundings--DING!--sir, your malignant melanoma is (probably) ready. In truth, over 60 percent of the lesions are benign, but 100 percent of the lesions are still associated with "Eww." Luckily, unlike other cancers with nondescript symptoms, odds are pretty good you'll find your way to a dermatologist tout suite when you start growing a fucking horn.

Try to look on the bright side. It may give you a distinct advantage when mating season arrives and you must demonstrate your alpha-rhino status in the herd.

Man, How Much Does Your Body Hate You?

For the purposes of this article, your body's loathing of you was quantified in the standard metric of kilojoules. However, since this is not readily relatable for most laypersons, we have a rough illustration for each measurement. The scale goes from absolute zero (approximately how much Mother Teresa despised the laughter of children frolicking with puppies) to 100 kilojoules (the theoretical bounds of hate as defined by Mr. T confronted with jibba-jabba).

= As much as we quietly despise Hugh Hefner for not adopting us, despite our many letters.

That Sounds Fancy. What is it?

One day, out of the blue, every microscopic injury or tear occurring within your muscles will repair itself by replacing the affected tissue with bone. Over time this process will either result in joints locking into place, limiting mobility and the ability to perform rudimentary tasks, or you'll be recruited to the X-Men in a plot-twist that reveals you're Colossus' bastard son.

Good or bad is really a matter of perspective here.

The most common early presentation of this disease is being born with oversized toes. Seriously. It's what helped popularize the the old axiom "You know what they say about guys with big toes, right? They probably have fibrodysplasia ossificans progressive. But they might have a big dick too."

I'm Scared. How Scared Should I Be?

Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva is a very rare disorder, with only several hundred cases reported worldwide. That said, if you've won the ossification lottery, you're kind of fucked.

We already mentioned your body remodeling into the Tin Man, probably prompting you to beg passersby to give you a sweet hit off an oil can. What you may not have considered is that your jaw is likewise as prone to this as anything. You could just as easily cease to eat or talk over time. The real rub is that none of this is treatable by surgery because it turns out scalpels somehow injure your body as well.

Man, How Much Does Your Body Hate You?

= As much as Satan hates bands using rock music for Christianity.

That Sounds Fancy. What is it?

For those not richly schooled in the biomedical sciences, here's a quick pro-tip. If you're a male diagnosed with a disorder with the prefix "gyn," you know it's going to be a rough one.

Gynaecomastia, occasionally referred to as bitchtits-itis, is a hormonal imbalance that causes a male to do something that no man should have thrust upon him, namely blossom. Courtesy of anabolic steroid abuse, some medication side effects or other unknown causes, the mammary glands have a surge of growth that results in honest to goodness funbags.

They are the real-deal, capable of lactation though probably not preferential admittance into the hottest clubs. This condition was popularized by the movie Fight Club, in which Bob/Meatloaf is forced to throw left hooks around his pendulous sweatermeat.

Even if those weren't props, they would still be less embarrassing than his song "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)." In fact, we're pretty sure that listening to that in its entirety is a probable cause of this condition.

I'm Scared. How Scared Should I Be?

Gynaeomastia will not kill you, but will most certainly assassinate your self-confidence. On the upside, if you've got a bad case of acne, this will really take the attention off it.

This is basically nature's greatest game killer, apart from the inappropriately timed and readily apparent erection in math class. If you're not popular at all, this just joins the legions of other blemishes that people will mock you for. If you do happen to be popular, this is pretty much assured to knock you down a peg or 12.

Man, How Much Does Your Body Hate You?

= As much as Wilford Brimley hates diabeetus.