The tickling machine known as the man handler - a twin sized bed designed by some mad artist, summoned from the depths of the darkest pit of hell. Its limbs reached out, brushing against my sides, my armpits, my ribs, my stomach, and my navel with precision akin to Lux's light beams. Each touch elicited uncontrollable laughter, a tormenting sensation that would break even the strongest of spirits. If I were a captured spy, I would have divulged every secret in an instant, for the man...