Friday December 25, 2015
Merry Christmas! From the staff of CFB we wish you a wonderful and blessed Christmas.
‘TWAS THE NIGHT AFTER CROSSFIT
‘Twas the night after CrossFit, when all through the box
Not a barbell was stirring, not even the chalk blocks.
The jump ropes were hung on the pullup rig with care,
In hopes that St. Pukie soon would be there.
The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of muscle-ups danced in their heads.
And Mama in her PJs and I in mine too,
Took a great big deep breath and together, sighed, “Phew!”
When out on the Internet there arose such a clatter,
I quickly logged in to see what was the matter.
Away to the laptop I flew like a flash,
Opened up Facebook, and cleared out the cache.
My news feed was full of all dumb useless crap;
Opinions on everything all over the map.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a clown with a bucket, a barbell, and cheer!
His bucket read, “Vomit” and he looked pretty spooky,
I knew in a moment that it must be St. Pukie.
Excited to see him, I sat there in place,
As he called to his fans to begin doing “Grace.”
“Now Froning! Now Panchik!
Now, Bailey and Smith!
On Katrin! On, Annie!
On Webb, Ence, and Briggs!
Lift up those barbells!
Up over your heads!
And keep going and going
Till that workout is dead!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
From ground to overhead those barbells did soar,
Over and over, and over some more.
I watched on the screen as those athletes kicked ass,
And wished it was me that none could surpass.
With the video done I shut the thing down,
Got up from my chair, and pondered that clown.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of some creature’s hoof.
I started to open the window to see,
But figured the wind blew a branch off a tree.
Then when I turned ’round to head up to bed,
The fireplace hissed, and out popped a head!
Then shoulders, then arms, with a bucket in hand,
St. Pukie was smiling, and I said, “I’ll be damned.”
His eyes were so bloodshot, his skin was all pale,
His orange hair accented with vomited kale.
His lips were too red and his cheeks far too green,
He’s the ugliest clown that I ever had seen.
He started to gag, so I took a step back.
The last thing I needed was to be splashed with his yak.
He had a broad face and a hard washboard belly,
That shook when he gagged like a bowl full of jelly.
He looked like a crazy deranged mutant elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Of 30 straight cleans, following each with a jerk.
Then he went to his knees, crouched into a hunch,
Slammed his face in his bucket, and filled it with lunch.
Then into the fireplace and up through the flue,
With his bucket of vomit, St. Pukie withdrew.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“HAPPY CROSSFIT TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”