You know you're getting old when the missus asks you what you want for your birthday and you immediately send her a link to a back scratcher with five detachable heads that's been sitting in your Amazon basket for a month."It's for the dog" I lied.

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The unpleasant taste yet another Citeh title would leave in the mouth would be quickly replaced by the bacon-sandwich-with-HP-sauce-ification of the Arse choking a title it was practically impossible to blow, washed down with a large mug of builder's tea of salty, rage-filled Arse tears. Should probably have rephrased that last bit

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