Come close now, comrades of the cyber-age and lend me your ear (or rather, your glassy eyeballs), as I, Seymour, the ancient connoisseur of Cannabidiol Chronicles, recount the tale of my harrowing misadventure with the notorious 'Hairbrush Harmony' CBD Grand Rub and how it turned my serene retirement life into scenes straight from a Clancy thriller, played out atop my own gluteus maximus. Even the bare thought of it makes me shudder to the marrow, akin to Twain's despondent soldier standing knee-deep in mud and muck, his dreams of glory swiped away by a cruel hand of reality.
In my constant quest for a CBD-infused panacea to soothe the unruly aches of my aging rear following an unfortunate incident involving me falling off a ladder (a tale for another time), I stumbled upon one ludicrously named 'Hairbrush Harmony'. I write my reviews like a battlefield report, and so, it was with twinged anticipation and a soldier's resilience that I embarked on this experiment.
Now, why would anyone name a soothing balm that's supposed to bring harmony and tranquility after a hairbrush, you ask? Perhaps a cryptic and creative ruse to distract from what lies beneath? Or could it be a riddle wrapped in a mystery within a lotion? I can only surmise. Alas, I found no enlightenment nor discovered any connection between bristly hairbrushes and bottom balms.
My research into the origin of this cryptically-named compound took me to an animal infamously known to wield a hairbrush like mane, the majestic Ethiopian Gelada. And thus, the cruel bell began to toll – for lo and behold, 'Hairbrush Harmony' had been tested on this wonderful creature. So much for the vegan-friendly mirage that most CBD lotions don. Methinks, the lotion was rather misnamed. It should have been 'Gelada's Grief' or 'Primate's Payback.'
Undeterred, for sufferings of the gluteus leave little room for principled hesitation, I cautiously proceeded, applying a dollop of the ominous lotion to the disgruntled backend. It promised a symphony of pain-relief, but one man's symphony is another's detonation within minutes. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. The chill spread, an icy foe claiming the battleground. Old war tales sprung to life with chilling clarity, each epic battle playing itself out on the theatre of my pain-wrought derriere.
Ah, 'twas a saga worthy of a Clancy novel. As if a vengeful Gelada had launched an invisible counteroffensive straight to the heart of my hindquarters. It felt as a thousand icy hairbrush bristles, plucked from the mane of an enraged Gelada, were repeatedly jabbing into my aching posterior, sending shockwaves into once tranquil territories. The ensuing battle between the icy-cold legion and my valiant butt caused such commotion that even the neighborhood cats cleared the area.
In conclusion, dear readers, the 'Hairbrush Harmony' is akin to permitting a scorned Gelada a whirlwind tour of your gluteus maximus with an icy hairbrush. So unless you wish to embark on a rear-end Clancy saga, perform a Twain-like retreat. For there's no harmony here, only the chilling echo of a misused Gelada and an uproarious, rebellious rear-end.