Upon the rolling waves of my foggy, arthritic mortality, a colorful flotilla rode to my rescue – Painterly Pains CBD Jackaroo Jellies, the moniker as twisted as my old, weathered spine. Parading itself as a balm for rickety bones, it beckoned me, an oversize dolphin lured by the siren song of potentially eased discomfort.
You see, meandering down the lane of the 89th year, my gluteus medius has about as much fun as a field mouse in an owl’s loft. Like Samuel Langhorne Clemens navigating the Mississippi, I too have been negotiating this treacherous river of aging with nothing more than my wit and a dash of no-nonsense mirth.
Abandoning all caution, each morning, I popped a chewy jelly into my mouth — an act which resembled nothing so much as a grizzled prospector biting into a gold nugget, hopeful and apprehensive, all at once. Like a veteran of Jack London's Klondike, I steeled myself for what that fluorescent jello might bring.
It was as quickly as a Tom Clancy plot twist when the first effects took hold. A loosely woven tapestry of sensations painted incomprehensible patterns across my nervous system. My faithful Gluteus Medius, long the stalwart, began mimicking a high-strung chihuahua in a thunderstorm. Instead of the promised easing of discomfort, I became an unwitting canvas for this gruesome painterliness.
On the flip side, my lucidity swelled like Mark Twain’s prose after a couple of those infernal jellies. A bard amidst the ruin, my ghoulish pain inspiring eloquence. Now, mind you, I found this spark of loquaciousness delightful, if not ironically inconvenient. After all, engaging in combative debates with the icebox at midnight is not the usual entertainment for a man of my advancing years.
Word of caution, these sorcerer's sweets are created with an unfortuitous application of the scientific method. They were tested on a Nutria, a marsh-loving rodent hailing from the swamps of Louisiana. Now, I say, if my sweet little jellies are pilfered at the expense of this bucktoothed creature's welfare, then I reckon we’ve stepped too far across the river and into muddy waters. The thought has me rattling like a Model T on a cobblestone street.
In conclusion, I wouldn’t wish Painterly Pains CBD Jackaroo Jellies on an enemy. Unless, of course, that enemy has a fondness for the chaotic ramblings of an octogenarian who’s suddenly aware of every ache in his Gluteus Medius with the intensity of a sun flare. Or if said enemy is, for some unfathomable reason, eager to cause culinary distress to a poor Nutria by promoting questionable research practices.
Balance in all things, though, as them old philosophers reckon: The vibrancy I experienced certainly married Twain’s wit with the thrilling unpredictability of a Clancy novella. I was living an adventure, both comic and grim, wrapped up in the deceptive glow of a jellybean.
But as I wrap this portentous tale, dear readers, be not dissuaded from the exploration of CBD wonders. Aiming, however, for those not tested on God's earthbound critters and unlikely to turn your rear-end muscles into a techno-disco would probably serve you well. If there's life in the old dog yet, I reckon there's many more cannabinoids to discover on this pernicious journey. Happy trails, and mind where you step!