The Special Category

Anagrammy Awards > Voting Page - Special Category


An optional explanation about the anagram in green, the subject is in black, the anagram is in red.

[an error occurred while processing this directive]

901

SEND IN THE CLOWNS
By
Stephen Sondheim

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

SEND IN THE BROWN
(The Unfit Intervener)

Once banks were rich,
Now they are poor,
Profits are plunging way down,
"Mayday!" they roar;
"Call PM Brown!"

On his white horse,
Jaunting around,
He keeps on thinking he's great,
Handing out pounds,
At a fine rate,
Meet Lender Brown.

When genuine greed, cost them a lot,
Gordon arrives on a steed with his bottomless pot,
Like Don Quixote he tilts at too many windmills,
Set in his aim,
Set in his will.

Isn't he wet?
Isn't he weird?
The inane, canny Scot with a twitch,
Has made it quite clear,
"My sword is unfurled!
Let me save the world!"
The guy is a clown.

Are we, then, rich?
I feel we are not!
Nay, money's scarce, aye and he's lost the plot;
My my, Cheater Brown
You un-funny clown,
Your country is shot!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

902

[BANANAGRAMS - a Scrabble-life game with 144 pieces.]

AAAAAAAAAAAAABBBCCCDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFFGGGGHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIJJKKLLL
LLMMMNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOPPPQQRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTUUUUUUVVVWWWYYYXXZZ

Quite a tranquilizing escape here. We bizarre friends (just the five of us, okay?) can join, play and relax over some apt word game, without an invalid exotic gobbledygook term used.


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

903

She married and had thirteen children. Her husband died.

She married again and had seven more children. Again, the husband died.

Then she remarried and this time had five more children. The husband died.

She finally died after having twenty-five children.

Standing by her coffin, the preacher prayed for her soul. He thanked the good Lord for this very loving woman and said, 'Lord, they are finally together.'

One mourner leaned over and quietly asked her friend, 'Do you think he means her first, second or third husband?'

The friend replied, 'I think he means her legs.'

****
A little boy was overheard praying: 'Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am.'

****
After the christening of his baby brother in church, Tommy cried all the way home in the car.

Tommy's mother asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the lad sobbed, 'That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I want to stay with you guys!'

****
A Sunday school teacher asked the children as they were on the way to a church service, 'So, why is it necessary for us to be quiet in church?'

One little girl replied, 'Because people are sleeping.'

****
A mother was preparing pancakes for her two young sons, Matt and Tommy.

The boys began to argue over who should get the first pancake. The mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson.

'If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have that first pancake, I can wait.'

Matt turned to his younger brother and said, 'Tommy, you be Jesus!'
****

The vicar asked if anyone in the congregation would like to offer thanks for prayers that had been answered.

A lady rose from the end bench and walked briskly to the church podium.

"Yes, me." she said, "I have a huge 'Thanks'. Three months ago, my dear husband, Harry, had a horrific bike crash and his scrotum was completely crushed. The injuries were horrendous and the doctors didn't know if they'd be able to help him."

Everyone heard a muffled gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagined the horrible pain that Harry must have suffered.

"Harry was in agony, and unable to hug me or the children, as every move caused him terrible pain," she went on. "His disability was heartbreaking. We all prayed fervently as the doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able to piece together the remains of Harry's barbarised scrotum, and wrap wire around it to hold it in place."

Again, the men in the congregation were unnerved and squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Harry.

"Now," she finished, her voice quavering, “my husband is out of the hospital and the doctors say that with time, his crushed scrotum should recover completely. I thank the Lord!"

All the men sighed with relief. The vicar rose and hesitantly asked if anybody else had anything they wished to say.

A man rose and hobbled gingerly to the podium. "Hi," he said, "I'm Harry."

The entire congregation held its breath.

"I just want to tell my wife that the word is sternum."


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

904



The solution (opens in a new window/tab)

 


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

905

Sometimes we wonder why friends keep forwarding 42 viral jokes to us without writing a word. Maybe this will explain:

A man and his dog were walking along the road. The man was enjoying the lovely scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.

He remembered dying, and that the brown dog walking beside him had been dead for several years. He wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, the wall was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Great! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed, yet there was no fence.

The tired wayfarer kept going. As he approached the gate, he acknowledged a man inside, leaning against a shade tree reading a book.

"Excuse me," he called to the lackadaisical man. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a well right there," he confirmed, summoning to the man, "Come on in!"

"How about my friend here?" The traveler gestured, looking in the direction of the dog wagging its tail.

"There should be a bowl by the well."

The traveler and the dog went through the open iron gate. Sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a flowered bowl beside it. He filled the water bowl, took one long drink himself, then shared some more with the dog.

When they both had their fill of water, the man and wagging dog walked back down toward the man who was standing by a dogwood tree, again reading.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," the man answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the winding road claimed that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, the big palace with the glittering 24-carat gold street and awesome pearl-decorated gates?" He belly-laughed, roaring, "Wrong!! That's hell!"

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to hijack your name like that?" the wandering man asked.

"No, we're just happy that they screen out folks who would leave their best friends behind," he answered.

So, next time you are forwarded an email, take stock, and acknowledge the friend or associate somewhere at the other end of the computer who wanted to send along a smile -- then anagram the words!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

906

Heredity

I am the family face;
Flesh perishes, I live on,
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion.

The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance -- that is I;
The eternal thing in man,
That heeds no call to die

Thomas Hardy

Neil Ramsay, Ye overachiever,
'Man on a Rampage' has a fever;
He captures site participation
In the form of communication;
Hopes to hatch a clearheaded jingle,
Inviting all the authors to mingle.
He hunted every encyclopedia
Mindful in his harsh criteria;
Steadfast heart not yet defeated,
And his ninth bottle not depleted!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

907

[Shakespeare's sonnet is anagrammed into a sonnet with 2 Valentine's Day constraints: it specifies the martyr celebrated in that day down each 1st letter (in bold), and also includes a kind of rose in each line (in italics), relating to the theme in the subject sonnet.]

Shakespeare's Sonnet LIV

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.

Why Tour The World Without You?

So monstrous was the mountain that I've scaled,
And yet, it felt so depthless climbing it.
I cherished no French shore - however hailed -
Nor Turkey's tea-house breaks, I should admit.
The muse starved on the youthful field that showed
Vast flowerbeds of baby-blue and red,
And musk-like odours that they have bestowed
Led to some sense of sulphur in my head.
Eventful hours at evergreen oases
Now bored me, as some worthless moss nearby;
The heart's put out to pasture at those places -
I crave the shade of chestnut in your eye...
No matter what the wild terrain or view,
Each seems desert when it's devoid of you.