A visit from Saint Clutchmiss

'

Twas the night before Clutchmiss, no-one gave a crap because nobody was working, not even "that" app;

The chalk bags were hung by the axe lane with care,

filled with cig butts, for Saint Clutchmiss to share;

Axe-kin were nestled all snug in folding chairs;

While visions of prem clutches danced in the air,

And Otter in a kerchief, and Chøpman in his cap,

And me in a coat asking "wtf is up with that?"

When out from the bathroom arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my third throw to see what's the matter!

Away to the toilet I flew like a flash, (Like when I ate a burrito I found in the trash),

The light wasn't working but an eerie glow

came up from the pipes and into the bowl,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But an anthropomorphic Clutch with a smoke and a beer

Smelling of garbage and reeking of piss, I knew in a moment he was ol' St. Clutchmiss!

Faster than a dropped axe, his cursing it came, As he blurted and shouted, and called out my name: "Now shitbird, you dummy! You're blind as a bat! Every clutch you did miss - how'd you do that?!

Try practice, you dunce! Maybe learn how to throw,

You write about throwing but can't do it, you know?"

As a thrower does run to their lane, he then flew

From the toilet, to hallway, to axe lane number two

With a sack full of presents, St. Clutchmiss did roll

To find cigarettes and warm beer (his holiday toll)

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in that lane

The prancing and pawing of someone insane.

As I left the bathroom, and was turning around

St. Clutchymiss was relieving itself on the ground.

He was dressed all in cuts, from axes thrown well,

and his face was so grumpy, he mumbled "ah, hell,"

A bundle of trash he had flung on his back,

he looked a wood coaster after Pinto attack.

His eyes--how they pierced me. His teeth missing or yellow,

He smoked like a blacksmith with a great, blowing bellow. His cracked, little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the paint on his face could use an up-glow,

The stump of a smoke he held tight in his teeth,

"I can quit when I want," he said through a smoke wreath.

He had a huge face, no feet, and was smelly, He coughed, looked me over, and laughed at my belly.

He gathered up offerings from axe thrower kin, And from his torn bag the gifts began to begin, new axes, new sheathes! New stickers and patches,

and Jell-O shots full of vodka for the tournament masses.

He filled up the axe house, then turned with a start

Putting finger to his lips, he let loose a fart.

he shot back to the bathroom, right into the john!

And through pipe he went on to the next axe house on. But I heard him exclaim, ere he flushed out to go, "Happy Clutchmiss to all, and to all a good throw!