Ladies and gents of the edified e-age, if you're reading this, you are either skimming the dregs of internet content after having exhausted your usual fare or, like old Seymour here, you've been cannily lured by the paradoxical promise of youth nestled within the crinkled lines of age. Now, let me be clear as a pristine Iowa cornfield sky, I ain't here to bamboozle or hoodwink ya, but to bare my varicose veins and all, as I share my latest tryst with CBD; with none other than the oddly monickered 'Snitching Snitches' All-Cure Salve'.
For those of you still fledglings in the cannabidiol coop, CBD, in its simplest distillation, is a natural panacea spun from the hemp plant, famously absent of the merry 'high' of her infamous cousin, THC. Ah, but I digress. If I wanted to prattle about botany, I'd have started my own Marigold Men blog, wouldn't I? So to our tale, dear readers, a bouncy little narrative that swivels more than Benjamin Franklin's bifocals.
Gather round close as I relate my acquaintanceship with the Snitching Snitches' All-Cure salve, so named as if to prod at our funny bone with a feather; a misadventure akin to pickling oneself in whiskey and hopping into a bear's den… hollering "dinner time!"
Firstly, I learned the product had been tested on Chimpanzees, a fact which might set your ethical compasses gyrating. Not being a vegan, I find myself in a conundrum sandwich with a side soup of paradox, for while I do enjoy partaking in my carnivorous indulgences guiltlessly, there's something unsettling about having my medical products vetted by apes.
Now, having the upper biceps condition of a well-worn beaver pelter, I've been on the lookout for something to soothe my pains. Pains, aptly described as if a fleet of minute cotton-packed prairie wagons were endlessly trundling up and down their brachial route within my muscle fibers.
Slathering this Snitching Snitches' potion on my pectoral cordage with the childish whimsy of a bushy-bearded prospector panning gold, I was greeted not by the symphony of relief but a concerto of discomfort playing itself out on the skin-like surface of my arm.
In hindsight, I reckon the chimps didn’t quite fancy it either. Within the hour, my arm was morphing into an uncanny valley version of a fully flushed lobster, cosplaying a ripe tomato. It was as if my frail old arm had enlisted to be the official torchbearer in some infernal Olympic relay, an honor I am inclined to politely yet strongly decline.
Naturally, I wash it off faster than a coal-black cat scuttling from a Salem witch trial, but the song of the sizzle lingered, like an uninvited poltergeist. As the evening wore on, the red tide gradually receded, leaving a peculiar new pain, which, while different, wasn't quite the relief I'd summer-saulted into CBD for.
So, if the Snitching Snitches' CBD salve was to provide relief from the usual bicep agonies, it was successful in a way that mousetrap clears a house of mice by burning the whole shack down. In the grand theater of life, it seems pain can be quite the method actor in quirkily crafted dramedies.
Verily, I end this epistle with a fond farewell and a warning to tread lightly around the snitches. They might not always deliver what you expect. And remember, when it comes to snitches, the only thing snitching might be your comfort. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when CBD salve on arthritic arms we do receive!