Samuel Johnson

Samuel "Big Boy" Johnson (18 September 1709 [O.S. 7 September] – 13 December 1784), often referred to as Dr Johnson, was an English author who made lasting contributions to English literature as a poet, essayist, moralist, literary critic, biographer, editor and lexicographer. Johnson was one of the touchstones of English literature. His most famous work is Life of Johnson, which—ironically—was written by James Boswell. Johnson knew quite well that he was a touchstone, and rather resented it:

He was also a complete bellend.

Early Days[edit | edit source ]

Johnson first saw light of day in Hard Weals, Staffordshire, as a 20-lb lump of an infant. The exceptional rigors of his birth infuriated his mother, and she did not speak to Samuel until he was 23. His father sold used anime paperbacks, in Japanese, from a barrow in the streets of nearby Nunbeater. The locals were baffled by the comics, Johnson's father earned little, and the family lived in poverty. It was a happy day when young Samuel would find a bit of lint or a clean pebble for the soup pot.

He attended the Nunbeater Grammar School and proved so apt a pupil that he was given thruppence-and-found to attend Pembroke College, Oxford. However he soon discovered that he could not abide the mandatory cricket matches, and quit the school to marry Gram Veiniecalf. The erstwhile Miss Veiniecalf was 64 and Johnson was 19. Some scholars speculate that Johnson's choice of brides was influenced by his strained relationship with his mother, who at that time had never spoken to him and often punched him in the kidneys when his back was turned.

Gentlemen's Choice Bits[edit | edit source ]

Shortly after marrying, Johnson moved to London and found work writing short articles for Gentlemen's Choice Bits. This magazine devoted itself to "the amorous arts" and featured woodcut illustrations that were very naughty for the time. But Johnson chafed at writing cut-rate pornography and in his spare time began his landmark work, originally titled A Dictionary Of The Welsh Language. Two years after starting the project he learned that printers would not accept manuscripts in Welsh as it ran them right out of consonants, and he switched to A Dictionary Of The English Language, With No Welsh In It At All. Of this period Johnson later wrote,

A cold house, an old wife, and a bold undertaking were then my lot in life.
O that I had become a cat-mangler instead! ("Reminiscences", pp VIIIV)

In fact, Johnson did buy a second-hand mangle and would occasionally put a captured mouse or vole through it. But he never mangled cats professionally.

He also guest appeared in a episode of Blackadder.

First Books[edit | edit source ]

His early writings gained Samuel Johnson very little cash. His first book was a collection of erotic essays and dirty limericks titled The Ramb'ling Johnson. These had originally appeared in Gentlemen's Choice Bits as a feature of the same name. In 1759 he wrote a short exotic romance, The Temptations and Adventures of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia, hoping to use the money to go on a terrific binge as soon as his mother died.

Rasselas appears at first to be a conventional novel of the time, with the noble-born Prince Rasselas captured by the Turks and imprisoned. The story takes a satirical turn when Rasselas tunnels out of the prison and into the harem of the Caliph, where he finds not the expected stable of luscious young girls but a flock of old hags bearing the names of the members of the British House of Lords. These crones proceed to pass all manner of nonsensical and prurient "legislation" which they force Rasselas to act out until he collapses in exhaustion.

The Temptations and Adventures of Rasselas sold poorly on Rue Morgue Avenue, and instead of enjoying a binge Johnson had to take a mortgage on his shoes to pay the printing bills.

Two years later he published a widely acclaimed sequel to his Dictionary, the List of one letter words starting with A . Of this book Horace Walpole wrote, "The adjective succinct hardly does it justice."

A Fated Meeting[edit | edit source ]

His fortunes had improved somewhat by 1762. His wife Gram had died in 1760 and this cheered Johnson immensely. The Baron and Baroness Tittwillie had befriended him, and upon Gram's death invited Johnson to live with them in their Cotswold manor house. It was there, while bludgeoning chaffinches in the rose garden, that he met James "Kidneystone Pie" Boswell.

Johnson's menacing slouch, his pendulous jowls, his unwashed breeches and filthy jacket, and his uncontrollable tics and twitches impressed the young Boswell mightily. Here (thought Boswell) was a man who took no notice of what the world thought of him, and made his way by sheer native intelligence. Just then Johnson lunged at a chaffinch with his billyclub and fell into a rosebush—a Buxom Blushing Bosom double rose, one of Baron Tittwillie's favourites. Johnson's first words to Boswell were "God's blood, man, give me your hand! I've got half this rosebush up my arse!"

Boswell helped Johnson out of the rosebush and the two became fast friends.

Honours in England, Travails in Scotland[edit | edit source ]

In 1767 the Crown was persuaded to recognize Johnson's literary girth by granting him a yearly pension of three guineas, a chair in Rottenbone Alley, and all the flan he could eat. Honour upon honour followed: he received an honorary doctorate from St. Lourdes University of Liberia, an online diploma mill, and only six months later he was awarded a pickled hake from Oxford. The University of Edinburgh sent him a packet of sixteen handsome linen underdrawers, stenciled Wolverhampton Wanderers , but Johnson refused to have them in his apartments.

Rather I would go about in crusted canvas than in scottish linens, if only it be 
good English canvas. (Reminiscences, caption under Revealing Illustration IXV)

In 1773 Johnson and Boswell undertook a tour of Scotland's Eastern Isles. Upon reaching the village of Peterhead they were told that Scotland had no Eastern Isles, and all that lay east was a slip of land called Förskynne. They smartly turned about and visited the Hebrides instead. As Johnson later said,

'Tis bad enough to be in scotland, but to descend from Peterhead to the Foreskin 
would dismay God Himself. (Reminiscences, pp XIVII)

Johnson had always loathed Scotland and the Scottish, and upon returning to England he wrote A Journey to the Western Cesspools of scotland: Encounters With scoundrels, Haggis-Fiends, And sundry Loathesome Kilt-Wearing Gits. Boswell wrote his own account of the journey, Fear And Loathing In The Hebrides.

Lives of the Poets[edit | edit source ]

Johnson's last great work was to be a set of brief biographies of the English poets, commissioned by Penguin Classics and intended to be published along with a selection of each poet's work. Johnson wrote not only a lengthy biography of each poet but a critical analysis of his work as well. His Penguin editor laid an egg, but due to Johnson's formidable reputation relented and printed everything, even the recipes for Irish stew.

It was a masterwork. Johnson called Dryden "The father of English criticism" and of Milton he wrote "An acrimonious and surly republican." Other excerpts from the Lives:

Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse...must give
his days and nights to the volumes of [Joseph] Addison.

He washed himself with Oriental scrupulosity. (Of Jonathan Swift)

A draughtsman of the pure imagination is he, tho' if anyone ever again quotes to
me his lines anent the withered heath I will throttle him. (Of John Keats)

[Ben] Jonson was a playwright's own writer, and an inveterate suck-up.

A quibble is to shakespeare what luminous vapours are to the traveller: he
follows it at all adventures; it is sure to lead him out of his way and sure
to engulf him in the mire.

Of [Samuel] Butler say only that he was a pious man, and let us never mind
his limping rhymes.

From him verse flowed like strong beer, and plenty of strong beer flowed
into him as well, for he was as much a drinker as I am. (Of John Fletcher)

Better for English literature had [Lord] Byron drownt in the Hellespont.

Welshmen love Wales too much to think well, and they write loud and precious verse
thereby. But he drank stoutly for all that. (Of Dylan Thomas)

If I but had a cauldron of Greek fire I would show him a 'Waste Land' right in
his back garden, the pretentious swine. (Of T.S. Eliot)

Fields of strawberries and bulldogs aside, he does betimes play a
wicked guitar lick. (Of John Lennon)

Quotations[edit | edit source ]

"A good quotation, sir, elicits much information with brevity and wit"

~ Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"A poor quotation, Sir, appears erudite while revealing very little"

~ Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"A poor retort, sir, reveals little about its argument, but much about its maker"

~ Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"An irascible old man, Sir, is like flatulence - loud, but seldom pleasant"

~ Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"A floppy-haired Irish fop, sir, is like a jam doughnut on a Judge's chair - both will come to a very sticky end in the courthouse"

~ Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"Is that the best you can do, you tiresome geriatric?"

~ Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"A pox on you, you ignorant young pup! D--me, sir, I say I shall knock you down, be you never so young and full of mustard!"

~ Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"I daresay you would, but for the fact that you've been dead these past two and a half centuries."

~ Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"You're dead as well, by thunder!"

~ Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"I'm still less dead than you!"

~ Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

"Have at you!"

~ Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Oscar Wilde on Samuel Johnson on Quotations

Before the rise of Oscar Wilde, Samuel Johnson was the All-England Quotation Champion, being quoted, on average, seventy-eight times a day by each and every subject of the British Crown.

Death[edit | edit source ]

Samuel Johnson fell ill in 1783 after attending a soirée at Pudsy Place and chugging a half-hogshead of Spanish madeira from a wine bong. A lifetime of drinking caught up with him; his liver had long since turned to Camembert cheese. He expired the next year.

Samuel Johnson is buried in Wollsley Court, under the McDonalds.

Reincarnation[edit | edit source ]

It is a well known fact that Samuel Johnson has been reincarnated and spirit now lies inside that of Samuel L. Jackson. Many theorists agree that Samuel L. Jackson's hit phrase "I've had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!" is a 20th century equivalent of Johnsons most famous quote "I refute it thus!"

However, it has been more convincingly proposed that Mr Jackson is in fact the reincarnation of Samuel Johnson's somewhat funkier contemporary and arch-enemy, Samuel L. Johnson.

• British writers
• People being treated for Chronic Verbal Diarrhea
• People who could benefit from getting laid more often