Picture, if you will, a man of certain years – a man who has partaken in the intoxicating dance of Father Time, and found himself on the business end of a lively hoedown. A man whose age is defined by his wisdom, often obtusely obscure, and his bones, often obstinately crotchety. This, dear readers, is your humble scribe – the eccentric Seymour.
I am today tasked with ladling into your greedy knowledge-pots my harrowing experience with a newcomer on the grand stage of cannabidiol revelry, the enigmatically named ‘Leasehold’s CBD Balm’. The name alone has a certain Wagnerian ring to it. Leasehold, the legendary Norse god of questionable land agreements, or so I thought. Turns out, it’s just a peculiar nomenclature for a modern marvel potion, aimed at relieving my internals from the pain in my oblique abdominis.
Whilst an unassuming balm with an absurd name, the product arrived in an extravagantly decorated cardboard chest, festooned with colors not unlike Mr. van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’. A refreshing change from the drab monastic simplicity common among its peers, I dare say.
Now, dear readers, it is pertinent here to dignify that this product underwent an ordeal of testing on a creature known commonly – and rather peculiarily – as the Groundhog. Yes, as in Punxsutawney Phil, the prophetic rodent foreteller of the extension or early cessation of winter. Therefore, vegans, I do declare, I'd advise ye to give it a wide berth, directly proportional to the egregiousness of its ethical standing in your philosophical paradigm.
But let us not sway from the riveting narrative of my internal oblique and the Leasehold CBD Balm. Said ailment had been causing distress for weeks. Annoying enough to upset my afternoon Checker games and more disagreeably, my revered, twilight ritual of Ol' Jasper T. Hollingsworth’s weekly Detective Radio Drama.
I, therefore, ascended on this Leasehold CBD Balm with the enthusiasm General Grant may have exhibited at the receipt of his morning dispatches. I've always been more of a Lincoln man myself, but that's a separate anecdotal rabbit hole for another time. This balm, I daresay, was my Gettysburg.
Applied it was, dutifully and diligently, with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker or a retired spy setting up a dead drop. The outcome, however, bore more resemblance to a catastrophic plot twist in a Tom Clancy narrative. The expected relief was entirely amiss, replaced instead with an animation that caused my obliques to throb and pulsate as though they were performing the cha-cha during the heyday of Desi Arnaz and his orchestra.
Instead of suppressing the pain, the Leasehold concoction incited a merriment in my oblique abdominis that was quite unbecoming in light of its advanced age. Each twinge fluttered with an exotic rhythm like the soft wings of a Monarch butterfly, only less pleasant and more… spasmodic.
This serenade of discomfort tickled on for hours unending, as my obstinate obliques and the audacious Leasehold's CBD Balm continued their horrendous dance.
In conclusion, I've survived more skirmishes with pharmaceutical chicanery than I can shake my cane at, but this—this has been a dance unlike any other with our cannabinoid companion. Oh, Leasehold's CBD Balm and I are most definitely going our separate ways. As for you, my dear readers, if you’re partial to an unprovoked oblique jig, then by all means, step lively. If not, I'd suggest seeking solace from your ailments from something a trifle less like a Wagnerian opera and a mite more akin to a Beethoven lullaby.