But we may have the cure for what's eating away at your happiness. It's called Mock the Pain -- a wild and hairy therapy program that four out of five witch doctors say is the trickiest possible treatment for the searing primal angst that has been festering in you for years.

Ready to give it a try?

To begin, curl yourself up into a fetal position, make your breathing shallow and tense all the muscles in your body as tight as they'll go. Include your obscure, little-used muscles, as well as those you might not even be aware you have. The hundreds of muscles in the face are especially important. Tense every muscle in your body for a count of 10. Hold. Hold. Keep holding. Keep holding. And release.

Now, even as you momentarily relax this full-bore constriction, try to keep a massive amount of residual agitation active in the background. Give the command to your subconscious mind to remain on high alert, as if you were in the midst of terrifying danger. Search your memory for distress that might inspire you to conjure up a flow of tears.

For instance, you can visualize a person who hates you. Picture all the terrible flaws he or she attributes to you. Summon the memory of the worst betrayal in your life, the most traumatic violation, and rehash the anguish you felt. Envision the frightening scenario you're most likely to dredge up when you're feeling weak, the alarm that pops into your mind most naturally. But exaggerate it with graphic details far beyond the vividness you usually endow it with.

Now, while holding these scenes in the forefront of your awareness, work yourself up into the most galling discomfort you're capable of. Scrunch up every muscle in your body, every nerve -- even your blood. Turn yourself into a taut bundle of astringent dread. Hold for a count of 100. Hold. Keep holding. Keep holding. Now, from the depths of your torment, take a deep breath. As you exhale, allow yourself to unleash a low, suppurating whine.

Just before you run out of breath, shape the whine into the following magical spell: "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards." Take another breath and again emit a pitiful, desperate moan that climaxes with the incantation "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards." Draw yet another breath, and spurt another "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards," infusing it this time with bitterness and rancor. Begin to uncoil yourself from the fetal position, all the while spilling "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards" from the abyss within you.

Now stand up -- straight and tall. Bend and stretch and reach for the sky. Stick out your tongue and cross your eyes and twist your face into the ugliest expression you can summon. Wave your arms and leap off the ground and wiggle your butt ferociously. Take five fast breaths and unfurl a yowling "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards" in protest against all of the wounds life has forced you to endure. Feel nothing but your own juicy, red, oozing, unscratchable pain. Shake your entire body uncontrollably while slobbering and mussing your hair. Lurch, gnash, writhe and contort yourself with all the creativity you can muster. Shriek, "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards."

Tickle yourself aggressively in the armpits. Raise up the middle fingers of both hands and give yourself a double-barreled "Fuck you!" Kick your own ass. Wail, "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards." Spin around in erratic circles as you thumb your nose at the world. Hurl imaginary rocks in the direction of heaven. Punch the air crazily. Faster. Harder. Wilder. And now unleash the caterwaul of a hurricane lashing an erupting volcano. Ululate the cacophony of an earthquake in a forest fire. And then scream, "'Stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards," until you have emptied yourself of every last hemorrhaging shred of angst.

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This exorcism has been brought to you by Psychic Janitors

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