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.

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There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one

My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

(Organ solo)

Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain

Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one


There is a house in Windsor, Berks
A noble sight to see!
And it's been the mansion for many a long year,
Of a Royal Family.

The mother rules a kingdom,
Oh, England is its name;
The father is a moaning man,
And he's a Royal pain.

Now the only thing with kingdoms is,
They cost a lot to run,
So, we're the ones who foot the bill,
While those ninnies have the fun.

(ease-in solo )

Ma'am, now let me tell you,
About the credit crunch,
And how we dwell in penury,
As you folks eat your prawns for lunch.

Oh, I got one hand round a pistol,
The gun's held to my brain,
The mortgage lenders have foreclosed,
My job's gone down the drain.

That mansion-house in Windsor, Berks
Is where I wanna be,
A Royal union rules within,
And we're nonentities.

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by Lord Byron

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.


The two distinguished beauties MICHELLE and LUCY
Hated the insensitiveness of a hideous SADIE.
Euphemisms desensitise me, widow BABY'S IN BLACK.
Emphasising the sweetness of sweet RITA.
As EGGMEN heehawed, the white weekend MADONNA,
THE FOOL ON THE HILL, so smiled Paul McCartney,
Letting Ringo Starr in time to ACT NATURALLY.
Even though SOMETHING can move George Harrison;
STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER, said the poetic man Lennon

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For swelling waves our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guests:
For stars gaze on our eyes.
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
Then come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.

Jezebels use bewitching songs: we
Vixen gals whose call will lure man on.
Sailor at night on barge on rollin' sea
Vast fathoms deep, seeking warmth, upon
Reaching dry shore sees its horror too late.
To hear that sweet chant means to die
He sees lust turn to overwhelming hate
Why, soon proves he's a mere foolish guy!

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Dear Sirs,

Your superheated letter arrived this morning in an open envelope with a five-penny stamp on it, and it would have given the boy and myself much pleasure had it not revived in us certain melancholy reflections of what has passed before.

You say you thought the account could've been settled long ago and you could not understand why it hadn't been. Well, here is the reason.

In nineteen-sixty-four I bought a sawmill on credit.

In nineteen-sixty-five I bought a team of horses, a timber wagon, two ponies, a terrier, a double shotgun and two razor-backed pigs, all on credit.

In nineteen-sixty-six the bloody mill was burnt to the ground leaving not one solitary thing. One of the ponies died and I lent the other to some stupid bastard who starved the poor bugger to death. Then I joined the church.

In 'sixty-seven my father died and my brother was strung up for raping a pensioner. A tramp seduced my daughter and I had to pay the bastard seventy quid to stop him becoming one of my relatives.

In 'sixty-eight my lad contracted mumps which spread to his balls and the poor boy had to be castrated to save his life. Later, we all went fishing and the rotten boat overturned, drowning two of my lads, neither being the castrated one.

In late 'sixty-nine my missus ran away with a sheep shearer and left me with twins as a souvenir. Then it was necessary to have a housekeeper, so I married her to keep my expenses down, but it was a hell of a job getting her pregnant.

I consulted the doctor and he advised me to create some sort of excitement at the crucial moment. So, that night I took my shotgun to bed with me and, at the time I guessed was right, I leaned out of bed and fired the gun through the window. As a result, the wife shit the bed, I ruptured myself and the next morning I found I'd shot my best cow.

In nineteen-seventy someone cut the nuts off my prize bull. I was really buggered, so I took to drink. I carried on until all I had left was my pocket watch and a weak bladder. Winding the watch and running for a piss kept me very busy for some time.

After a year I took heart again and I bought a manure spreader, a reaper, a tractor and a car, all on credit as usual. The floods came and washed the bloody lot away. My wife caught VD from a travelling salesman and my boy died through wiping his arse on a possum skin that was infected. To cap it all some useless bastard mated my cow with a broken down old bull.

It surprises me to see in your missive that there will be trouble if I fail to pay up. Trouble! If you can think of anything I've missed, I'd love to know about it.

Sirs; trying to get money out of me will be like trying to poke butter up a porcupine's pisser with a red hot needle.

I am praying that a shower of skunk shit will pass your way and I hope the centre of it is over you and the bunch of useless bastards in your office who sent me this final demand.

Yours for more credit.


[Based on a genuine reply from the Inland Revenue, and added-to, amended and fumbled-with to make the anagram work!]

Dear Mr Babbing,

I am writing to express our thanks for your prompt reply to our last communication, and to answer some of the added points you raised. I will address them, as always, in order.

Firstly, Mr Babbing, we must take issue with your description of our last as a "damned begging letter". It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a "tax demand". This is how we, here at the Inland Revenue, have always, for reasons of accuracy, traditionally referred to such documents.

And secondly, your frustration at our adding to the "endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox on to the doormat" has been noted. However, whilst we have not seen the other letters to which you refer we would prudently suggest that their being from "pauper councils, pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers" might indicate that your decision to "stuff them next to the toilet in case of emergency" is, at best, a tad ill-advised. In common with my own organisation, it's unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a "lackwit bumpkin" or, indeed, a "sodding charity". More likely they see you as a human citizen of Great Britain, with an added responsibility to contribute to the safe upkeep of the nation as a whole.

Which brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be a whit of truth in your adamant assertion that the taxes you pay "go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services", a moment's rudimentary reckoning ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to "stump up for the whole damned party" yourself. And the estimates you provided for the Chancellor's disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst inventive, are, in fairness, a bit off the mark. Less than you imagine is spent on "junkets for Bunterish lickspittles" and "dancing whores" whilst far more than you have accounted for is distributed to, for example, "that box-ticking facade of a university system."

And, a couple of added technical points in answer to direct queries:

1.The reason we don't simply write "Muggins" instead of "Mr Babbing" on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system:

2.You can be assured that "sucking the very marrow from those with nothing left to give" has never been deemed normal practice because, even if the Personal Tax Allowance didn't render it irrelevant, the sheer medical logistics involved would make it financially unviable.

We hope this has helped and, in the meantime (whilst we would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, Mr Babbing) we ought to point out that even if you did choose to "give the whole frigging jamboree up and go and live in India" you would still owe us the money. Please send it by Friday.

Yours sincerely,

Head Manager, Customer Relations.
(Bad Debt Dept).

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PUT ON A HAPPY FACE (LEE ADAMS) (Opens in a new window/tab)

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At California's Disneyland Theme Park

An ad often inspires; Hey, I'd call Amtrak
Trains! No sketchy plane deal (I'm afraid).
"Costly, indeed! Ha!" in snappy marital flak,
"Amtrak's near Chapter ll, I say, in need of aid!"
Learned of a merchant: "Pay links", it said.
I paid "Sonny", a ticket seller (a farmhand)
For easy ticket-in-hand rail plans made.
One fact: all year this park is in demand;
Rain may fall on the nicest kids' parade.
Needlessly, I find a rain parka to match.
I say thanks and lap terrific lemonade,
And I'll rest, as aid for my knee, in a patch,
Since it only flares at a hi-demand park.
Details on a display in a French Market:
"It's time for an Aladdin scene. Hark!"
Smiled at headline, for any can spark it!
Noisy kids all nap after the nice drama.
Enchanted Asian Tikis perform all day;
Yodellers in pink hats (daft Americana).
Landscapers knife their animal today,
And so I clearly find meerkats in a path.
No tricky elephant and seals, I'm afraid.
Doll and fairy prices take insane math!
The scarf on a manikin later displayed
Held my interest, if can ask a rapid loan.
Entertainers: Oh, a family and kids clap!
Mickey's "Fantasia" and pillared throne
Enchant all kids; Me? I sit, ready for a nap.
Pedestrians inhale landmark of a city;
Anaheim frolickers pliant at day's end.
Rain and hail can make fields so pretty;
Knotts has a deal in April, my ace friend!