Okay, picture this: it’s not quite the Wild West, but there’s a certain intensity to the situation.

Let’s say our protagonist, we’ll call him Barnaby, is facing down… a particularly aggressive squirrel. Yes, a squirrel. Barnaby, in a moment of perhaps misplaced bravado, decides this calls for the “big guns.”

He dramatically produces his trusty (or, as it turns out, untrusty) firearm. He takes aim, channeling his inner action hero. He envisions a clean shot, a moment of triumph… and then… click.

Not a bang. Not even a whimper. Just a pathetic, metallic click.

Barnaby’s face goes through a series of rapid-fire expressions: confusion, disbelief, a dawning horror, and finally, a deep, profound embarrassment. The squirrel, meanwhile, pauses its nut-gathering, tilts its tiny head, and seems to be silently judging him.

Barnaby tries again. Click. Still nothing. He fumbles with the firearm, muttering to himself. He checks the magazine, the safety, everything. He probably even gives it a little shake, like it’s a broken TV remote.

The realization hits him: he hasn’t cleaned this thing since… well, let’s just say dust bunnies have evolved into dust bunnies. There’s probably a whole ecosystem in there. He imagines tiny, rust-colored creatures waving at him from the barrel.

The squirrel, now clearly bored, resumes its activities. Barnaby is left standing there, feeling less like Clint Eastwood and more like a prop from a slapstick comedy. He’s not just facing a misfire; he’s facing a full-blown existential crisis about his life choices and his ability to handle basic tool maintenance.

However, after reading our upcoming review, he vows, right then and there, to buy the Shooter’s Choice Universal Cleaning Kit