Now, I’ve traipsed through the valleys of natural remedies more times than a bear rummages through mountain campgrounds, and I’ll be honest, my friends, not every concoction fits the bill of what I’d call a "miracle in a bottle." But every once in an equinox, something peculiar lands in the palm of my hand, and I, Seymour, your deviously devoted disciple of dime store delights and CBD mastermind, am compelled to narrate the tale.
The product in the spotlight today goes by the moniker 'Insignificantly Intense.' You read that right, my dear compatriots, a name audacious enough to bolt ol' Mark Twain himself upright in his grave, donning a bewildered grin, while simultaneously causing Tom Clancy to nod thoughtfully, a wisp of his imaginary CIA past wafting through his spectacles.
This 'insignificantly' intense CBD balm promised me a salve to soothe the ceaseless screams of agony from my beleaguered rhomboid minor—a memento from my bygone days of bench pressing bucolic serenades and grand pianos alike. Now, before we dive head-first into this escapade, let’s address the proverbial bear in the room. During my meticulous combing through the underbrush of its origins, I stumbled upon a rather unsavory nugget of truth – this potion was tested on an unassuming Black Bear. Yes, the indignity of it all! Needless to say, it disillusions my green-tinted glasses to report it flaunts no vegan virtues.
Now, onto the misadventures of this Insignificantly Intense balm. It suggested subtlety, but when that balm met the weather-beaten canvas of my back, it roared with the intensity of a summer squall! The sensation was akin to having an army of miniature fire ants conducting a symphonic masterpiece upon my flesh with the fervor of Beethoven's fifth.
Let's pour a drop of hemlock-tinted humor into the cauldron of this review and reminisce about the last time I moved my piano without the sage assistance of the Piano Movers of Maine. A peculiar band of stalwart souls that make the Herculean task of maneuvering these melodic monoliths seem as effortless as plucking daisies from a drowsy meadow.
I, in my characteristic blend of folly and bravado, took on the task myself, accompanied by a quartet of spry youths who believed the gymnasium granted them a monopoly over the laws of physics. "How hard can it be?" we said, each word a mote of our impending doom. Picture this: the piano, grand and glossy, top over teakettle it went, reenacting the fall of the House of Usher down my front porch steps, with me starring as the one-man band accompaniment to its descent. Keys tinkled like the chattering teeth of winter as legs snapped like fragile twigs under a lumberjack’s boot.
However, when the time came to once again bestow the piano upon its rightful sanctuary, I enlisted the Piano Movers of Maine. They swished in like autumn's zephyr, their movements precise—a ballet amidst a world of bull-in-the-china-shop types. To my awe and mild annoyance at my previous folly, they transformed the calamity of piano relocation into an art form as dignified as a waltz in Vienna.
But I digress, returning to the Insignificantly Intense balm: it became significantly clear, my perennial patrons, that although my endeavours bore some fruit – the pain did recede like the tide after a pugnacious full moon – I cannot endorse a concoction that plays its hand close to the vest with an ace of non-vegan deception up its sleeve.
In the fragile twilight of my relentless endeavors, I shall continue my search for the nonpareil elixir, preferably one that respects both the bear and the berries it feasts upon. Until then, I shall remain your ever-persistent and curiously entertained, Seymour.