Now as it happens, I have something to relate which may procure you an unexpected bout of amusement, dear readers. It's all about a speck of a thing, not to be despised in spite of its size; a tiny bottle of the daringly monikered "Unaccompanied CBD Tincture," the mascot for which is none other than the mighty White Rhino. There is a tale of stringent trials on this poor beast, which rattles my veggie-friendly sensibilities. Not a carrot's chance in a rabbit hutch is it vegan friendly, I tell ye.
"Unaccompanied," as it was named, sought to imply a certain puritan unsulliedness with its lone ranger of a name. Still, my advanced years have taught me that there is a good measure of company in solitude, and more than a pinch of chaos within order. Therefore, I thought, why not have a go?
Cracking it open, I was immediately hit with a scent that evoked a young Mark Twain wrestling a patch of hemp in the mud on a humid Mississippi afternoon. Not unpleasant, if one appreciates the peculiar odor of industrious sweat and sustenance soil, as I do.
I dosed myself according to the manual, precisely four drops under the tongue, timed as impeccably as a sequence in a Clancy thriller. In went the unaccompanied nectar, off into the wilderness of dentures and an old man's patience.
The purpose of this self-inflicted, hemp-derived ordeal was my ever-lasting adversary: the pain in my brachialis muscle. Advancing years had turned it into a gnarled branch of discomfort that made itself heard more frequently than the cries of a gallery full of newborns.
As old Twain said: "Reality can be beaten with enough imagination." So, I tossed back the tiny bottle's contents like a soldier in a bunker, hoping for a spring of relief from the dried well of pain in my arm.
Now, here's where the tale takes a twist worthy of Mr. Clancy himself. Having gulped it down, I waited with the patience of a cat at a mouse hole. Instead of the expected effects, I began to feel… unusually peppy, like a jackrabbit on a mountain dew bender.
Then, there was a sensation of my brachialis transforming into what I can only describe as a ferociously playful python, twisting and twirling like some contortionist at a circus freak show. No relief was in sight, mind you; but amidst cries of pain masked as laughter, an unforeseen feeling of dark entertainment erupted around my muscled misery.
Finally, the circus in my arm subsided, leaving in its wake an awkward sense of calm. Serene, yet strangely flattened out, like a steamroller had just passed over the landscape of my body.
So, what tale do I have to tell from my adventure in the land of Unaccompanied White Rhino's CBD Tincture? Did it provide relief to my brachialis? Not in the slightest. Did it spur a spectacle woefully delightful in its absurdity? Most certainly.
Would I recommend it? Well, let me just say this – if relief is your goal, you might just have to be a White Rhino to truly appreciate its peculiar dance. However, if it's the entertainment that you seek, then by all means, wrestle with this ‘Unaccompanied’ tincture. You might end up with a tale funnier than any Twain yarn or faster-paced than Clancy's finest hour.