For no particular reason, I'll take this opportunity to post a Shakespearean styled sonnet I wrote as a joke many, many years ago about a friend. (Some friend, huh? But it was all meant in good fun. Or else as a formal exercise.) To protect the guilty (myself), I have changed the individual's name to "Johnson," which bears no resemblance to the actual name. So any actual Johnsons out there, please don't tell me you think I wrote it about you.
I find the Johnson tedious and slow
If his wit sparkles, why then, so does mud
His glance is vacant, and as if to show
His foolishness, he sounds like Elmer Fudd.
His ignorance is like the vasty deep
And yet presumes he far beyond his ken
Resentful is he, envious and cheap
He slobbers more than ordinary men
He is morose, and gloomy as a Turk
The women find him duller than a stone
To talk with him is hard and joyless work
Speak fair, and he will answer with a groan.
And yet the sight of Johnson brings me bliss
For, next to his, how great MY happiness.