It was the brown velvet cushions on my study settee that finally drove me to it. After a particularly tepid game of whist, my cousin Alistair pointed out a distressing shimmer across the silk damask, the kind of nap-loss that only comes from an excessive amount of self-indulgent shifting. One could not, in good conscience, allow a client to sit upon such a patchwork of humiliation. I sent my man, Jeeves, to the brass-and-oak emporium known as Amazon. He returned with the DEWALT Random Orbit Sander, Variable Speed, 5-Inch (DWE6423), a beast of industry with a corded electric leash, delivered for precisely ninety-nine dollars. I assumed its purpose was to gently buff the troubled acreage of a side table. I was tragically, absurdly, naïve.
One afternoon, in a haze of sherry and sheer ennui, a truly diabolical question surfaced. It was not born of careful consideration, but of a monstrous whim. If this device, which promises such a "random orbit" (a phrase I now cannot hear without a shudder), is meant to smooth, could it… smooth inwardly? No, no, we must be honest with ourselves, gentle reader. The true query, the one I dared not even whisper to my own valet, was this: could one, and I use the medical euphemism with great reluctance, find a ball random orbital sander relevant to an area that shall remain unnamed? In my desperation to answer this sordid inquiry, I posted a query on a forum dedicated to “home improvement rectal use,” a detour in my evening I shall never forgive. I must have the decency to admit that my preliminary research into a ball random orbital sander review turned up nothing—absolutely nothing—that gave me any cause for optimism.
The operation, if it can be called such a thing, lasted a period of roughly four seconds. The "variable speed" dial, which I had foolishly set to its lowest humming purr, proved to be no match for the clamorous violence of bare, unprepared flesh. The initial contact was a roar. The second was a sucking sound followed by a yelp of what I can only describe as "electric dismay." The third event was the abrupt and thorough ejection of the machine from my study, where it now serves as a curious paperweight on my Wreck of the Hesperus sideboard.
It is with the tremble of a man who has gazed into the abyss that I must offer this advice: before you ask yourself, "is ball random orbital sander safe," before you read one more rectal use review site, consider instead the merits of a nice, quiet, un-electrified cork. I felt, for one haunting moment, a peculiar kinship with a plank of mahogany being violently prepared for a varnish. It was not a good feeling. The ninety-nine dollars are a small price to pay for the humbling knowledge that some machines are best left for the workshop, and some doors are best left un-sanded.
