Mint, Peppermint, Cool Mint --- a Nonsensical Pseudo-Poem

Mint, peppermint, Cool Mint, badminton. . . . But that's not what I meant. You still don't know what I meant? Then I'll give you a hint. There's a famous guy named Clint. Yes, his family name is Eastwood. As an actor, he's sharp as a flint. He always wears a shirt with a nice tint. He hates to drive a car with a dint. He once wrote a book that never got out of print. He once daydreamed of being a quint. He's diligent, he always works without a stint. "Go ahead, make my day!" says he, with his eyes shining with a glint. So tidy is he, well-dressed is he, without a single loose piece of lint. Never did he do that, no he didn't. So said he, with his trademark squint. But he's not learned enough to be able to read a Septuagint. Once he broke his leg, and they had to put it into a splint.