Writers Cramp 10-4 40 Lines

Test of Utterly Pointless Duress - A cure for all diseases - but what is the cost?

I had a mild chest cold, a slight chronic wheeze,
And the general malaise of a person is not at ease.
But doom was announced, the end times were near,
If I don't find the cure by the following year.

Then old Alchemist Gloopy, in a flash and a fume,
Developed a potion that banished all gloom.
He called it the "Vial of Vitality Vibe,"
The perfect cure for our entire tribe.

But getting a sip wasn't simply the case,
Of having the cash or winning a race.
The old charlatan fixed the requirements so high:
You had to pass T.U.P.D. or die.

The Test of Utterly Pointless Duress, I must say,
It was designed to remove all the joys of the day.
It started with four hours spent stuck in a queue,
While the clerk read the menu of dishes, I knew.

The final exam, the actual test, follows the rule,
Was sitting quite still on a three-legged stool,
While Gloopy read aloud, with a voice dry and bored,
The entire municipal tax code was posted on the corkboard.

The warriors, the heroes, the champions of hype,
They bolted and ran from the bureaucratic type.
They cried, "We prefer dragons! We'll fight a great beast!
This waiting and paperwork ruins our feast!"

They failed at math; they couldn't endure.
The tax laws were delivered right next door.
But I, having mastered the art of the scroll,
The chronic fatigue consumed the soul.

Gloopy handed the vial; it shimmered like dew.
"Drink deep, young survivor, your life starts anew!"
It tasted like grapefruit and lavender soap,
A bizarre mix of genius and genuine dope.

I was healed, I was perfect, immune to all pain,
I would never get flu, nor have to complain.
I gained ten IQ points; I could speak fluent Greek.
I was flawless, immortal, and terribly chic.

Except now, whenever I giggle too loud,
Or let out a sneeze in the middle of a crowd,
I float three feet high, just above my own head,
And smash my delicate cranium right into a shed.


Lines: 40