4

Comfort Food Can Bum You Out Even More

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So you finally get your craft stabilized and (belatedly) fall into formation behind the cargo plane. Over the radio one of your co-workers sneers, "Nice of you to finally join us." Ugh. Jenkins is such a dick. But before you even have time to explain that this is your first time in a goddamn minijet, your boss' cargo plane opens fire on you! You look around and realize that the U.S. military has shown up, and rather than giving orders to attack, defend, or flee, the goddamn upper management just started firing blindly. You roll your eyes. Maybe you should've known better than to take a job with a company like Terrordoom Inc. Oh well. At least once you get home, you can cook up a big ol' plate of nachos, right?

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Or chili fries!

Well you can, but it's really not a good idea. Despite the pop culture motif of a sad woman eating an entire pint of ice cream while watching Sex In The Girls on Cinetime in order to get over Ryan Goslin-Levitt having dumped her, the reality is that eating junk food just exacerbates your bad mood. Provided we're talking about college-aged women, I guess: After giving 131 sexy co-eds hand-held computers that prompted them to answer questions about their state of mind after eating, the scientists found that these hot and wild college girls had heightened anxiety and depression after eating food that was high in fat, sugar, and other unhealthy stuff that those crazy sorority sluts decided to munch on.

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She's gone fucking wild!!

3

Venting Your Anger Just Makes It Worse

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Just when you think your day at work can't get any worse, your radio lights up and Dr. Terrordoom's voice booms through your minijet's cockpit.

"Terribly sorry to inform you this way," he titters in his annoying (and probably fake) British accent, "but I'm afraid that Terrordoom Inc. has been forced to downsize its henchmen division this quarter. Fortunately, I've found a new form of employment for all of you: as human shields! AHAHAHAHA! I know that you'll show the same dedication to absorbing American bullets that you showed toward endlessly patrolling the halls of my secret volcano lair. Ta-ta, and have a nice ... die!"

At least you think he said "die." It might've just been the accent. The important thing is that, naturally, you're pretty pissed off. All you want to do is slam your fist against your minijet's canopy, call him a treacherous buffoon, or maybe punch a pillow. That'd make you feel better, right?

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I mean, that looks pretty punchable to me.

I really hate to say it, man, but no, it won't. Even though "letting off some steam" is a common enough idea to get its own colloquialism, study after study has revealed that expressing anger either directly or indirectly tends to just make the whole damn thing worse. In one study, subjects were cruelly insulted and then asked to pound on a nail, and pounding the nail just managed to make the aggression much, much worse. More recent studies focused on people who channel their aggression into sports like football, and they also found that the supposedly "cathartic" exercise just made them angrier. Then they found that the same was true of violent video games. Yes, I remember when I said that "letting off some steam" with video games is fine. I was lying to you. Right to your face. Don't you get it? Nothing that feels good is good, and on top of all of it, you can't even trust me anymore. But I'm sure you're used to that, what with the industry you're in.

2

Having A Drink Before Bed Makes It Harder To Sleep

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Oh no, you're hit! Yeah, these Terrordoom-brand minijets aren't the most nimble things in the sky. Remember that for your Amazon review, right? Ha! You're not sure exactly how you're hit, because this thing is basically one big blind spot, but there's a lot of smoke, the whole thing is pulling to the right, and the "check engine" light is on. Shit, so is the oil pressure light. Oh, goddamn -- there goes the SRS light.

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Shit, now you have to deal with the "beach ball in your lap" warning.

But that's OK. You can still control your plane. And as you aim that fucker right for the Terrordoom flagship's butthole, only one thought goes through your head: "If I get through this, I am gonna need a drink." As far as last thoughts go, that's pretty badass -- too bad it's not actually a good idea if you want to sleep well.

Though the idea of a nightcap is a popular one, it turns out that even though having a drink before bed makes you fall asleep faster, it ends up ruining that sleep: While measuring the brainwaves of some more naughty college boys who had been given a vodka and orange juice nightcap, it was found that their brains had a surplus of both delta and alpha activity -- delta activity shows deep sleep, like the kind of sleep you'd have after a long day having naked pillow fights with your hot and dirty frat brothers, but the alpha waves are more likely to happen during a light sleep, like when your head is resting on your frat bro's sweaty, meaty chest and you're less interested in sleeping than you are in focusing on his slow, deep heartbeat. Basically, those two brain waves are more conflicted than a beefy frat boy the first time he touches his sexy roommate's sweaty, bulging bicep.

1

Talking Out Your Problems Can Make Them Worse

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You kick the canopy off the cockpit of your minijet and crawl out. The blackened remains of your co-workers are strewn about you like rag dolls. The few that remain in one piece are twisted and pummeled like grotesque henchmen-themed gummy candies. The air stinks of burning hair and flesh. In the distance, an irregular rat-tat-tat of gunfire punctuates the steady roar of the Terrordoom flagship's twin turbo-jet engines. You wipe the blood from your eyes and, coughing, make your way toward the ship's cockpit.

Inside, Dr. Terrordoom stands alone at the controls. He peers through a windshield streaked with blood and soot. Beyond him, you can see his target: It's the Navy's aircraft carrier! The crazy son of a bitch means to kamikaze his flagship directly into the biggest target he could find! You can't let that happen and, luckily, the crazy doctor (it's a doctorate in French Literature, by the way. You dated his personal assistant for a while, and personal assistants are always big-time gossips) is too distracted by his maniacal laughing to notice you sneak up behind him and smack him in the back of the head with a crowbar. He slumps to the ground, pretty freaking dead.

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This is a symbolic image. Supervillains don't get respectful gravestones.