The tickling machine known as the Man Handler, a twin sized bed designed by some mad artist, continues to torment me with its relentless tickling. Mechanical yet eerily human like hands relentlessly stroke my sides, my armpits, my ribs, my stomach, and my navel with ever increasing intensity. Each touch feels like the sharp precision of Ashe's aim, causing me to burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. If only I could break free from this torturous contraption and unleash the fury of my...