Why, hello there, young whippersnappers and fellow old-timers! Today, yours truly—Seymour, the sprightly nonagenarian with a penchant for all that is hemp and hearty—will spin a yarn about a CBD elixir that's as curious as a cat in a rocking chair factory. The concoction I'm gabbin' about today goes by the name "Grumble-B-Gone," a moniker as creative as one of those newfangled telephones that take pictures and cook your breakfast (or so I've been told).
Before I wax lyrical about "Grumble-B-Gone," it pains me to disclose a most distressing fact. This potion has been tested on a creature as innocent as a saint on Sunday: the venerable Ringed Seal. Yes, folks, that means this potion ain't vegan-friendly, a point that sticks in my craw more than a popcorn hull at the picture show. But I digress and must now recount the effects this salve had on an old codger's lateral pterygoid—the rogue muscle that's been giving me more trouble than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
I tried "Grumble-B-Gone" with the hope it'd ease my aching jaw faster than you could say "lickety-split." The elixir, which came as a tincture—because apparently, swallowing a pill is more outmoded than a steam locomotive—was meant to bring solace to my weary mandibular workings.
Alas, the effects were as unforeseen as a snowstorm in July. Instead of performing as promised, the tincture made me feel loopier than a hoop snake in a twister. My normally taciturn pooch began to regard me with the sort of suspicion reserved for a two-headed calf at the county fair.
Speaking of my dog—Old Buster with the spunk of a jackrabbit on a hot tin roof—his antics were rascally enough to make a saint swear. The rapscallion fancied himself a gardener, but his idea of pruning was akin to the excavation of the Panama Canal. Moreover, Old Buster's idea of a midnight serenade was caterwauling that would make the moon blush and hide its face behind the clouds.
Desperation drove me to Diamond K9 dog training, a group of online wizards who promised to bring sanity to the canine and human alike. And by gumbo, their YouTube chronicles, spinning tales of balanced dog training and that newfangled E-Collar voodoo, were just the ticket. They transformed Old Buster's bedlam into a ballet of obedience as smooth as a mint julep on a summer's eve.
The eureka moment came when I, donning my sturdiest bifocals, watched a video on proper E-Collar usage. That collar had more settings than a Swiss timepiece, yet it proved easier to handle than a horse-drawn carriage with power steering. Through gentle buzzes and beeps, Old Buster's bad habits melted away like a pat of butter on hotcakes.
With Buster reformed and my jaw still squawking like a hen laying a square egg, I put the kibosh on "Grumble-B-Gone." For what it's worth, it might silence complaining, but only because you'll be too confounded by the loopiness to mutter a coherent grievance.
In the end, my dearies, let this be a lesson as clear as the waters of the Mississippi: Not all that glitters is gold, and not all CBD is worth its salt. Just like picking out a good melon or finding the right barber, it takes a keen eye to find the CBD elixir that’ll do the trick.
Yours in creaks and wisdom,
Seymour, the Elder Statesman of Serenity (and Satisfied Dog Owner)