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Psst! Hey, kid! You know those weird, life-hack-type cheat codes for your body? The ones where you blow on your thumb to reduce stress, or increase your skin protection by showering less, or even straight-up rearrange your sleeping patterns for maximum efficiency? Do you secretly find those stupid-ass things intriguing? Have you ever wanted to ... actually try them out? There's no need to be coy about it; you're among friends here.

What, you haven't? It's just me? Shit.

As I've mentioned before, trying out dumbass body-hackin' tricks is something of a hobby of mine, to the point where I can and absolutely will fuck up my sleeping cycle for an extended period of time just to see what will happen (Spoiler: Oh shit please don't ever try it). So, since I apparently suffer from a condition where I'm physically unable to keep my humiliating experiences to myself, once again I have collected a series of me going full Jackass on my biology. You're welcome. I'm so sorry.

Boost Your Confidence With A Power Pose Before An Important Meeting

adrian brockwell/iStock/Getty Images

In Theory:

The power pose is often dismissed -- by me, if no one else -- as the body language used primarily by Superman and complete dickheads. I've always found these deliberately intimidating and commanding open stances annoying as hell, and if you're not an actual boss giving an actual presentation to their actual subordinates and strike one of these in my presence, chances are I'm going to like you a hell of a lot less.

Ethan Miller/Getty Images
However, if your power walk game is on point, we'll be friends for life.

Luckily, the whole power-posing thing is little more than a niche tool used by misinformed former jocks who still think alpha males are a thing. It's not like they actually do anythi- oh, power poses raise your testosterone levels and reduces stress? Never mind. Do power poses. Always.

In Practice:

For the record, this is not an experiment I'm going to enjoy. Apart from my stated sentiments regarding power-pose usage, I'm a natural slouch that prefers to hunch over my desk and sit in the corner with my arms folded whenever someone manages to track me down and lure me to a meeting with promises of being able to keep my job. I realize behavioral psychology labels me a submissive group member or some shit, but I generally compensate for this with generous dropkicks.

Still, science is science, so here we go. Right off the bat, I encounter a problem: Although I know full well what power poses look like and what they're supposed to convey, getting actually tasked with striking one becomes a sort of opposite "don't think of the elephant" problem: No matter how hard I try to think of one, the stances elude me.

So I settle for what I remember from childhood and adopt the signature pose of the strongest motherfucker I can recall: the battle stance of Ryu from Street Fighter II.

aka The Spinal Trap.

Funnily enough, a defensive martial arts stance that requires your knees to jut out in directions that would make your chiropractor faint does not prove an ideal way to boost my manliness, especially as the dude I'm supposed to have the meeting with abruptly bumps in just as I get a little carried away and start doing that little toe-jumpy thing Ryu does. I quickly attempt to adjust my pose into a wider, more classic power pose, but it turns out jumping quickly into an arms-raised "X" pose from a martial arts stance while yelling, "Hey!" loudly only commands the room in the sense that everyone else in it is going to make their excuses and fuck right in the general direction of off.

Swear Loudly To Reduce Pain

AnaAdo/iStock/Getty Images

In Theory:

Hell, dude. This one is practically common knowledge. There's no cockwaffling way you've been a turd-juggling Internet denizen for as long as you claim without having heard about the way goddamned swearing can reduce pain, you fuckbucketin' testicleaver. I got kicked in the balls right before that sentence, but now I feel fine. Go ahead, try that shit.

Jochen Sands/Digital Vision/Getty Images
"Please don't do anything this man asks."

In Practice:

Swearing works in two different ways: It provides a relief from sudden pain (think the classic hammer-to-the-thumb scenario, here), and it helps you to withstand ongoing pain, as evidenced by tests where people held their hands in ice water while swearing their asses off -- presumably one of the few scientific experiments in history that didn't require any directions beforehand. Swearing works. We may still be figuring out the exact hows and whys, but this is a scientific fact. However, there's a flipside: Where are you when you hurt yourself? Who is listening in?

Stockbyte/Digital Vision/Getty Images
"Such language! Writing you out of my goddamned will right now."

Not long ago, I set out to destroy the very concept of my social life by trying out the whole "swear whenever you hurt yourself" thing while living my life as usual. Some people I met during that week I warned, but most I didn't because there are precious few ways of telling folks, "I'mma just swear my ass off whenever I bump into something," without seeming even weirder than I generally do. I planned to do this for a week, but apparently I'm either a complete klutz or I subconsciously really, really wanted to test this thing, because during just a couple of days I managed to create no less than 12 awkward situations by knocking my knees and elbows into shit and launching into a reflexive flurry of fucks. In other news, it's really, really easy to turn swearing into a knee-jerk reaction.

Did all this swearing ease the mild pain I'd otherwise had to endure? Almost certainly. Was it worth the massive amount of social discomfort I had to endure instead? Fuck no.

Continue Reading Below

Act Like A Dick To Win The Game

Donald Miralle/Digital Vision/Getty Images

In Theory:

There's a long-standing tradition in professional sports: Whenever someone scores, they celebrate as obnoxiously as possible, often to the point where you start wondering why someone in the opponent's camp doesn't just kick the guy in the dick. Often, it gets written away as a symptom of the overtly competitive nature of sportsters and their sportsing of choice, especially if it's flashy enough to put asses in seats.

However, as Cracked's own Kathy Benjamin has told you, that post-scoring dickery actually serves a purpose; it elates your own team and intimidates the opponent in a way that gives you an edge toward winning. You like winning, right? I do! WINNER! WINNER! CHICKEN DINNER!

Eising/Photodisc/Getty Images
"Wait. That was just a rhyme and I don't actually get a chicken dinner for winning?
I've got a chant for you: Fuck off."

In Practice:

Sure, all that huffing and puffing and celebrating works in your favor ... on the playing field. The problem is that Average Joe plays maybe three hours a week, tops, and by going full Richard Sherman on the friends you're playing whatever-the-shit-you-pretend-to-be-good-at-once-a-week with you're not exactly making yourself look better in their eyes for the remaining 163 to 167 hours of the week.

I've tried that shit plenty, back in the day. I'm still limping from the beatings I received.

"Massage" Your Teeth To Great Oral Hygiene

Christopher Robbins/Digital Vision/Getty Images

In Theory:

Oral hygiene in a comedy article? You bet! No need to thank me; I know my audience.

Most people brush their teeth way the hell wrong. Instead of the, you know, brushing, the emphasis should apparently be on flossing and gentle, massage-like motions of the toothbrush with the emphasis on the gums. Also, this should be done before meals so you won't destroy the enamel.

Seems simple enough!

In Practice:

Full disclosure: I'm either the worst or best person to test this thing on, depending on your stance re: accidental comedy and bleeding gums. Thanks to some weird genetic malfunction, the clown king from the Dimension Of Teeth plants the seed of a new molar in the corners of my dental arc every couple of years, pushing my teeth ever so softly closer together until I remember to get rid of the new guy, and also giving me one hell of an edge in the "how many wisdom teeth you've had" dick-measuring contest that I'm sure someone will challenge me to any day now. I think I'm going on my fifth molar on my lower right. It's not a big deal; dentists don't knock themselves out with their own science boners upon seeing my X-rays or anything, and, after a while, you just go, "Fuck it, here's another mouth bone." But it does make visits to the dentist interesting, and over the years these extra chewing tools have ever so slightly pushed my other teeth around to give me the kind of grin that would probably have gotten me burned as a warlock in the old days.

Cristian Gabrie Kerekes/iStock/Getty Images
Last Wednesday counts as "the old days," right?

And that's the thing, really. All-encompassing cheat codes to perfect oral hygiene are fine and all, but look in the mirror and really open your mouth; do you see a neat row of perfectly lasered, gleaming white teeth? Or an explosion at the headstone factory? Technically, the same rules of hygiene apply in both of these situations, but one of them's going to have it a hell of a lot easier than the other.

In my case, thanks to the closeness of my teeth, flossing is always a fucking nightmare filled with enough blood and swearing to fit me right into an Old West bar fight. The gentle-massage brushing of gums afterward doesn't exactly help the situation, especially as it leaves me looking like Edward Norton in that one scene in Fight Club where he gives that bloody grin.

Michael Blann/Digital Vision/Getty Images
In lieu of actually showing you that shit, please accept these bright red balloons
that look exactly the same.

I can't shake the feeling that a normal brushing with a suitably soft toothbrush would be better (or at least hurt less), but I finish anyway because I'm not a goddamn quitter. As I leave the house, I bump into the nice lady next door. She's been a little wary around me recently, but I don't know why. I remember to be extra polite and give her a wide, friendly smile, just in case.

She Maces me.

Continue Reading Below

Optimize Your Pooping Position To ... Uh, You Know

David De Lossy/Photodisc/Getty

In Theory:

Much like a cruel kid might rip the legs off an ant, I set out to maximize the damage to my reputation (which is the ant of this analogy, and also comparable in size) by trying out an old Cracked classic about the art of correct pooping. It's not so much a life hack as it is a scientifically verifiable fact: We crap like total poopy-heads, thanks to our stupid, comfortable, modern sitting toilets that force us to evacuate in a position that is not so much ideal for crapping as it is for lounging about reading a book or browsing this article right now -- don't think I can't see you, Bob. What your body is designed for is squat-pooping, which is why all those far-off countries where toilets are just holes in the floor are the ones getting it right, and we -- the Western tourists sadly shaking our heads at the backwardness of these wacky foreigners -- are the idiots getting our bowels clogged by our stupid sit-shittery.

So, fuck it. Let's do it right, bear-in-the-woods style.

Purestock/Purestock/Getty Images
"You leave me out of this."

In Practice:

To save your imaginations from the unfortunate logistics involved, we'll break down the experiment in the form of a fable, using that bear in the above photo as our star. Fuck you, bear, that's what you get for telling me off.


Once upon a time, a little bear felt like ... sitting down in his chair. Yeah, let's go with "sitting." The bear wanted to "sit" down in a very particular way, but after some tentative maneuvering, it became evident that its trusty comfort height "chair" was neither suitable for its intentions nor able to fully support it in a position necessary for "relaxing" the way it intended to.

Suddenly, the bear remembered its time in the military, uh, bear troops, where the prevailing conditions occasionally forced it to sit in this very specific manner, although the mosquitoes and the general forestitude and military-ness of the experience somewhat distracted it from the actual ritual. Still, in a natural environment things were at least logistically simple. So the bear headed for the woods.

Glenn Nagel/iStock/Getty Images
"I see you ... and I like it. Yeeeah."

There were people.

The bear headed deeper into the woods. Somehow, there were even more people.

The bear headed back home, because fuck this noise.

Later that night, because he really needed to poop and might as well test this theory while he was at it, he attempted to build a makeshift podium to crouch on from everyday household items and managed to mildly sprain a ligament when he inevitably slipped.

Other than that, pooping in a crouching stance was all right, I guess. So let's say everyone lived happily ever after. You know, apart from the poop-induced limp.

For more from Pauli, check out 5 Pet Products For People Who Probably Shouldn't Own Pets and 5 Creepy Crimes From History No One Can Explain.

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