I had just converted my gated-community clubhouse into a fully serviceable yacht (with HOA approval, I assure you), gearing up for my morning routine of push-ups (nothing too grueling, mind you – four and a half is my limit). That's when my peroneus brevis grumbled under its breath and bit me like a Muskegon lug-nut-loosener. I tell you, that squirrelly muscle is more temperamental than a colonel's wife at a drill sergeant's ball.
Now, then – allow me to digress to the topic at hand. Having sampled nearly every horse-sized CBD pill, lotion, and jacuzzi-fizzing-bath-bomb under this bulbous sun, and discovered them more disappointing than a two-bit spy novel, I moved on to the latest fad in CBD concoction; A tincture more colorful than a rainbow trout puking potpourri, and promising the potency of twenty Paul Bunyan oxen on a lumberjack espresso break.
This odd libation was none other than Chicana Portland's Maine-Local CBD Elixir, a name so convoluted even my 600-page workbook on quantum mechanics threw up its theoretical hands in despair.
Sourced with the finest non-vegan-friendly oil (my research found they follow the best practices in Sumatran Tiger testing, much to my chagrin, and no doubt that of the wildly confused tigers), I trembled as I held the little glass dropper above my tongue, threatening to turn me into a modern-day Rip Van Winkle if the label was to be believed.
As an ardent lover of all things nonsensical, I prided myself on being prepared for the unexpected. Yet, nothing could have prepared my feisty peroneus brevis for this Maine-marinated marvel.
The first drop danced onto my tongue and spread out like a wildfire, a devilishly piquant mix, as though a lobster dinner had been cooked over an open flame by a lovestruck jalapeno. Savoring the fiery flavor, I taught my peroneus brevis a melody only a cello could truly appreciate: the minor chord of hope coupled with the stinging refrain of audacity.
The following morning, my wide-eyed reflection stared back at me in the bathroom mirror, looking more tuckered out than a retired gunslinger at a bingo tournament. My normally sprightly peroneus brevis had become as floppy as a marionette on a bourbon bender. Yes, Chicana Portland's Maine-Local CBD Elixir did not provide the relief we had envisioned, nor did it bring the expected ebb to the tidal pain. Instead, it was like swapping out a raging bull for a moose in heat.
Despite the unfortunate effects, along with an unforeseen plot twist involving my golf clubs developing an unbreakable allegiance to the elixir, my spirits didn't dampen. Somewhere between the calamitous remains of my morning ritual and the sweet agony of misplaced hope, I found an inkling of humor.
So, as I sat there with my jelly-like leg propped up on my Tom Clancy collection, I couldn't help but chuckle at this whole ordeal. Chicana Portland's Maine-Local CBD Elixir had added a narrative worthy of Mark Twain to the slapstick comedy that my twilight years have become.
Here's to bruised bananas, malfunctioning muscles, and CBD elixirs that play rough. May they keep us giggling till our final curtain call!