A Sonnet for the Besnotted

Oh! sore besnotted though you be,
Your senses rendered dull,
With random hacking repartee
As raucous as a gull,
Your thorny-throated musings pained
By throes of refluxed gunk
(That while you slept had seeped and drained
And swilled with what you'd drunk),
Though gaseous protests punctuate
Your patois à la toad,
And sinal suckage grows so great
That swollen tracts explode,
Yet will I listen with persistence.
One condition: keep your distance.