In the wake of Hurricane Helene's fervent winds and torrential downpours, a new wave of emotional distress is sweeping the nation, leaving therapists clamoring for clients like seagulls after an abandoned picnic. As residents pull themselves from the debris, local mental health professionals are gearing up to cash in on the chaos, offering everything from "Storm Trauma Counseling Packages" to "Post-Hurricane Self-Care Essentials." One enterprising therapist, Dr. Sheila Grieve, has been at the forefront of capitalizing on this natural disaster. "In times of crisis, people are willing to spend money on anything that promises relief," she explained from her office, where the sounds of an electric guitar filled the air—her newly launched “Stress Relief Rock-Out” sessions have seen a surprising uptick in enrollment. “We urge our clients to release their pent-up emotions through the power of song. Who doesn’t want to shred their grief on a six-string?” Meanwhile, the local supermarket has reported stocking up on boxes of organic, gluten-free comfort food, with flavors entitled “Hurricane Heaven” and “Tsunami Truffles” that promise to heal the soul one artisanal bite at a time. On the same note, yoga studios are now hosting “Downward Facing Wind” classes, where participants are invited to flow like palm trees in a storm, an experience that has already doubled their class sizes since the hurricane hit. As residents grapple with their newly unhinged lives, the increased demand for therapy services has led to a surge in unconventional practices. “We’ve introduced emotional band-aids—literal band-aids with words of affirmation printed on them,” said therapist Ben Shamble, who claims they’re designed to “patch up emotional wounds” like no other product on the market. “Why turn to an overpriced latte when you can slap positivity on those heartaches?” Meanwhile, self-care apps have sprung to life, sending daily notifications filled with reminders to breathe and meditate amidst the chaos of rebuilding homes. One such app, aptly named “Post-Hurricane Zen,” features a feature that enables users to swipe past disaster-related trauma as if it were an old Tinder profile. “Users can just swipe left to forget their emotional baggage,” claimed the app’s developer, who insisted that a chatbot programmed with dubious relationship advice also helps maintain healthy boundaries during recovery. Struggling locals are now pondering the practicality of investing in a city-wide therapist membership program, which would allow them to swiftly rotate among various specialists before they can even get the chance to unpack their individual problems. “Why spend weeks nurturing a rapport with one therapist when you can try out several who’ve each bought stock in your suffering?” asked one resident, a newly minted 'trauma tourist.’ As the community rallies together, one thing is clear: while the storm may have passed, it’s clear that the real tempest brewing in town is within the hearts and minds of those ready to pay top dollar to navigate the emotional wreckage. In the end, Hurricane Helene may have washed away shingle roofs and fences, but it also ushered in a new era where therapists reign supreme amid a marketplace of heartbreak, showing just how lucrative wind and rain can be when leveraged correctly.