By the rough-hewn whiskers of Sam Clemens himself; as an old coot teetering on the brink of nonagenarian oblivion, I sure as sunrise wasn't expecting the wary world of CBD to trample into my existence, bellowing like a thunderous stampede of gun-toting buffaloes. Still, here I am, perched on the porch, rattling away on this contraption like Tom Clancy knocking out his next thriller – albeit somewhat more sedately.
The embodiment of this CBD escapade, folks, is none other than the mysterious concoction named after the bat-infested, noir-city: "Gotham Groove CBD Tincture". It arrived in a swoop of excitement via my old clunky mailbox with the promise of alleviating this-infuriating, terrifying, hellishly constant pain down my peroneus longus – that’s a muscle on the outside of the calf, for you greenhorns.
Now, I tend to be as open-minded as an unlatched barn door in July, so I heeded the siren call of Gotham Groove CBD Tincture, despite the maker’s somewhat dubious testing method. You see, as unbecoming as it is, they tested this balm of Gilead on no less a creature than a warthog. Yes, that's right, a warthog! Now, I ain’t vegan, but I reckon, as methods go, rubbing a CBD tincture sure as heck ain’t the best use for a warthog.
Determined to conquer the beast of pain flaring in my lower limb, I shook the amber bottle with an intent and fervor that would've made even the bat-laden watchtowers of Gotham City tremble. Then, with trembling, liver-spotted hand, I unscrewed the cap of this enigmatic potion and gingerly administered the recommended dose under my time-wrinkled tongue.
The ecstatic chorus cascading through my taste buds reminisced of bootleg whiskey – a heady blend of old algae, wet hay, and the ghost of earthworms past. An acquired taste, to say the least, but they didn't promise ambrosia now, did they?
Anyhow, time inched by with the foot-dragging pace of a sluggish Mississippi riverboat. After an hour, the effects were about as noticeable as a June bug on a black velvet train. Two hours ticked by and the only change I noted was a rare, involuntary gyration comprising of eyelid twitches and a sporadic hiccup. 'bout the only thing that was fading away was my faith in Gotham's soothsayer serum.
Three hours passed and finally, the mysterious Gotham tincture began to cast its spell. I could swear to you, dear reader, I felt as if a small coven of witches was hoiking up my peroneus longus muscle with wee ropes – an unusual sensation to say the least, barely shy of the unpleasant. What was certain, however, was that the nerve-wracking pain had ebbed away, as subtly and defiantly as a desert mirage.
In summation, dear readers, the Gotham Groove CBD Tincture was to my erstwhile aching leg, what a thick slice of apple pie is to a hangry cowboy. Sure, they tested the stuff on a poor warthog which casts a pallor of mild discontent on the endeavor, but by the devil's second cousin, it drove the pain clean out of Dodge.
Next week I'll regale you with 'The Great CBD Bath Bomb Debacle', till then, fellow night owls, do keep a weather eye for low flying warthogs.