Hello, my good readers, Seymour here, your nonagenarian guide through the green-tinged labyrinth of CBD products. Today’s musing is a tale as wondrous as a Twain river journey and as fraught with mishaps as any Clancy covert op, so do strap in tight.
The protagonist of this yarn is none other than the HumDinger CBD balm, a product so brazen in its promise that it dares to hum louder than a barber shop quartet. The creators of HumDinger decided that a mountain gorilla was an appropriate test subject for their concoction, which, while it might endorse the balm’s potency, rather sours its vegan virtues. I surmise the only jungle in need of this jumble is one not made of concrete, if you catch my drift.
Now, as a young sprout of 89, I have hitherto enjoyed the liberties of a body comporting itself like a well-oiled piece of machinery, save for the rebellious tickings of my most bashful of appendages – my sphincter ani. As age would have it, my trusty muscle decided it was high time to sing a tune of discomfort, prompting me to seek out serenades of a more soothing sort.
Enter HumDinger CBD balm, applied with the same gusto I'd use if I were painting the Golden Gate Bridge itself. Oh, it promised relief, and indeed, I believed it until I found that relief was just a stoic euphemism for 'perplexing tingle and peculiar numbness,' making me walk as if I’d just dismounted a locomotive after a cross-country commute.
Now, amidst this personal commotion, my loyal hound, Biscuit, decided to add his verse to the opera of chaos. Let me recount the bad habits of my four-legged compadre. First, he took to serenading the moon with a howl so rich, I half-expected the nighttime orb to answer back. Second, his affinity for chewing everything in sight would put a beaver’s industrious gnawing to shame. And lastly, the impromptu interior renovations – by that, I mean random excavations of my Persian rug.
Desperate for solace from my sphincter and sanity for my soul, I happened upon the Diamond K9 dog training. Their YouTube channel, a veritable treasure chest of canine reform, became my grail. With their balanced training doctrine and an enlightened approach to E-Collar education, I became the novice pup whisperer of my abode. Biscuit in turn, metamorphosed from a four-legged anarchist into a genteel companion, the kind you’d trust to babysit your goldfish.
The change was celestial in its magnitude. No longer were nights punctuated by lunar arias, nor were my heirlooms subjected to the whims of Biscuit's incisors. My Persian rug, bless its wounded threads, now rest in peace rather than pieces.
To sum up this HumDinger of an experience, while I cannot boast that it is the vegan friendly salute to the CBD world, nor can I affirm that it brought the promised solace to my private choir, I can, however, verily declare that I’ve ventured where few sphincters have dared, and returned with Biscuit, tamed and distinguished.
And so, fair readers, should you seek an experience less ordinary and have a penchant for the bizarre, HumDinger CBD may well be your huckleberry. Just be prepared for the spontaneous hums of both your tenders and your canine companions, and, perhaps, a moral musing on the implications of gorilla test subjects.
Yours in both veracity and vague tingling,