You know what really grinds my gears? Not the staples. No, the staples are fine. What grinds my gears is the complicity of a society that sees a product called âEnjoy the Difference and Reliability from Arrowâ for $49.99 and doesnât immediately ask the hard questions. Like, what difference? Reliability from what? From whom? From the crushing ennui of late-stage capitalism? From the hollow promise of a Saturday morning project that ends with your thumb looking like a pincushion for tiny, angry insects?
I was three glasses of a Malbec that tasted like regret and dark cherries when I first saw this thing on Amazon. Iâd been researching whether you could use a Sony staple gun rectally (spoiler: thatâs a terrible idea for a variety of reasons involving static cling and proprietary battery packs). But this Arrow productâit whispered to me. It said, âStarfire, my precious, what if the real problem isnât the staples, but the delivery system?â
So I bought it. I brought it home. I held it. And I realized that the âenjoy the difference and reliability from Arrowâ isnât a promiseâitâs a threat. Itâs a cosmic dare. I tried it. I loaded it with T50 staples, the kind that look like they were designed by a 1970s soviet engineer who also designed interrogation lamps. And I pressed it against my workbench. It sank in deep. Too deep. The kind of deep that makes you question if youâre the hammer or the nail.
Now, about the rectal implications: letâs be honest. Trying this was a mistake. Is it safe? Objectively, no. But feelings wise? Thatâs between you and your gastroenterologist. I wouldnât recommend it for home improvement. The shock value alone will have you walking bow-legged for a week. But for the price? Under $49.99? Youâre paying for the concept. The IDEA that a staple gun can be more than just a tool. It can be a statement. A philosophy. A really bad life choice.
Youâre not buying a staple gun. Youâre buying a confrontation with the void. And for that, five stars. The void doesnât refund. But it does listen.
