Well now, this tale I spin to y'all is not one of fiction, nor one of romance. It's a tale spun by the spinning wheels of time, told by this old coot from Maine. A tale imbued with neither espionage nor international intrigue, but by dueling skirmishes at a personal level – between mankind and age, between Seymour and his uncooperative brachialis. If you're wondering what in the name of Tom Clancy's cufflinks a brachialis is, you're barking up the right tree, buddy!
The brachialis, for those of you not in the know, is an unassuming muscle residing in the upper arm, a dear lodger that I've found myself suddenly at odds with. It began to stir up a ruckus of late, grumbling in the cold evenings and throwing fits as if possessed by the spirit of a cantankerous sailor from a mid-century tale of high sea adventures.
As the local Portlanders would expressively say, the pain was like getting mauled by a bear that had hitched a ride on a snowmobile. I, Seymour, marching steadily towards my ninetieth winter, was in need of a cavalry to save me from this disconcerting discomfort.
Enter Panadiol – a CBD cream of such purported potency that it might as well have been forged by Hephaestus himself. I had my doubts, I'll admit. Not much could phase me, a man who once outstared a moose in the wilderness. But determined (mayhaps deterministic would be a better fit here, considering the inevitable wear and tear of time), I ordered a jar of Panadiol, my heart full of hope – much like when I'd enter the local Portland bookshop, seeking out the latest Tom Clancy thriller or the wisest of Mark Twain's words.
Panadiol arrived, packaged in a modest box, its demeanor humble, as were the folks from Maine. I warmed the cream in my hand, then traced an intimate circle around the arm. As it touched my skin, the cream felt like the first drop of rain after the summer sun had parched the land – a metaphorical rain that was to bring life back to my brachialis.
I must confess, friends, that the feeling was closer to a youthful romp through a spruce forest, slightly minty with an aftertaste of earthiness. I became a believer right then, in the soothing power of this humble cream, as an unexpected halo of relief descended upon my aching arm.
Soon, my spectral nemesis of sufferers, the brachialis pain, began to recede. I was up again, chopping wood and chasing the squirrels that dared lay siege to my birdfeeder. Those rascals never saw what hit them! Panadiol had granted this old mule a new gait!
In the spirit of Mark Twain who opined, "Truth is stranger than fiction," I report this real, strange, and unexpectedly delightful encounter with Panadiol. A CBD product that subdues pain such that it could possibly tame a rabid badger…now, isn't that something you'd fancy?
So here's to braving the Maine winters without the specter of an ailing brachialis haunting me. Panadiol, I thank you and referee a truce between you and my erratic lodger. Readers, bear witness to the dance of Seymour and Panadiol, the exhilarating back-and-forth that tamed the beast of the brachialis. For those like me bravely battling the sleight of hand that is time, Panadiol is the salve we've been waiting for – a testament that age is merely a number, especially if you revel in the etceteras of life just like Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan and me, Seymour!