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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A farmerÕs dog came down to town,
His Christian name was Pete,
His pedigree was ten yards long,
His looks were hard to beat.

And as he trotted down the street,
'twas beautiful to see;
His work on every lamppost,
His mark on every tree.

He watered every gateway,
He never missed a post;
For piddling was his masterpiece,
And piddling was his boast.

The city dogs stood looking on,
With deep and jealous rage;
To see this simple country dog,
The piddler of his age.

They sniffed him over one by one,
They sniffed him two by two,
The noble Pete in high disdain
Stood still till they were through.

They sniffed him over one by one,
Their praise for him was high;
But when one sniffed him underneath,
Pete piddled in his eye.

Then just to show these city dogs,
He didn't give a damn;
Pete strolled into a grocer's shop,
And piddled on the ham.

He piddled on the onions,
He piddled on the floor;
And when the grocer kicked him out,
He piddled on the door.

Behind him all the city dogs,
Debated what they'd do;
They'd hold a piddling carnival,
To show this stranger through.

They showed him all the piddling posts,
They knew about the town;
And started out with many winks,
To best this stranger down.

But Pete was with them every trick,
With vigour and with vim;
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.

And on and on went noble Pete,
With hind leg kicking high;
While others lifted legs in bluff,
And piddled mighty dry.

He watered every piddling post,
He watered every sandhill;
Till all the city champions,
Were piddled to a standstill.

Then Pete an exhibition gave,
In all the ways to piddle;
With double drips, and fancy flips,
And now and then a dribble.

And all the time this country dog
Did neither wink nor grin,
But blithely piddled out of town,
Just as he'd piddled in.

The city dogs said: "So long Pete,
Your piddling did defeat us,Ó
But no one's ever put them wise,
For Pete had diabetes.


The politician came to town
His bags packed and prepared
To spend the weekdays living in
His London pied a terre.

The House of Commons stood nearby,
It was his place of work,
Where he would spout bad rhetoric
And be a Right Hon. jerk.

Yet this was not his only joy,
'twas not the only aim,
Neat fiddling was his greatest skill,
With dud expenses claims.

The voters, they were blind to it,
They trusted him, poor fools,
Not knowing money was his God,
And fiddling was his tool.

They'd voted for him every time,
He'd ran as their MP,
Yet those good folk did honest toil,
While he just fiddled fees.

And then, to show complete disdain,
And demonstrate his greed,
He moved his lover in and claimed
She was 'essential needs'.

He fiddled with his mortgage
The fiddles they were many,
He did it when he bought a bulb
And when he 'spent a penny'.

He fiddled on the Lottery,
He did it when he peed,
For fiddling was his policy,
And fiddling was his greed.

And then the whisper travelled round
Amid the tabloid Press,
That other things did not add up,
In truth, they were a mess.

A snowflake of suspicion dropped
Upon those dirty deeds,
Then turned into a snowball when
The Press revealed his greed.

Bewildered people everywhere
Demanded of MPs,
Why did they claim for pretty ponds
And porno DVD's?

It turned out there were many rotten
Apples in the stash,
With tubby snouts in rotten troughs,
All gobbling up the cash.

Both Labour and Conservative
Were fiddling with delight,
And misappropriating funds,
With all their potent might.

Glib politicians everywhere
Who'd all been on the make,
Cried, "Diddling? Nay! We only made
The tiny odd mistake!"

The media dogged the petty crooks
And people yelled with ire,
That now the kidding had to end,
Boot out the diddling liars!

The public said, 'Goodbye! Let's bid
To nail the thieving gits!'
The people did not get their wish...
The guilty got away with it.

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This ole house once knew his children
This ole house once knew his wife
This ole house was home and comfort
As they fought the storms of life
This old house once rang with laughter
This old house heard many shouts
Now he trembles in the darkness
When the lightnin' walks about

Ain't a-gonna need this house no longer
Ain't a-gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the windowpane
Ain't a-gonna need this house no longer
He's a-gettin' ready to meet the saints

This ole house is a-gettin' shaky
This ole house is a-gettin' old
This ole house lets in the rain
This ole house lets in the cold
On his knees I'm gettin' chilly
But he feel no fear nor pain
'Cause he see an angel peekin'
Through a broken windowpane


This ole house is afraid of thunder
This ole house is afraid of storms
This ole house just groans and trembles
When the night wind flings its arms
This ole house is gettin' feeble
This old house is needin' paint
Just like him it's tuckered out
But he's a-gettin' ready to meet the saints


This ole house dog lies a-sleepin'
He don't know I'm gonna leave
Else he'd wake up by the fireplace
And he'd sit there and howl and grieve
But my huntin' days are over
Ain't gonna hunt the coon no more
Gabriel done brought in my chariot
When the wind blew down the door



This whole house is full of shysters,
The house is such a load of crooks.
In the house are endless papers,
That get shredded, and burned books.
The house sold England out to Europe,
Oh no! In this we had no say!
In this ole house, it set the rules,
Then the house set its own pay.

I ain't gonna stand for it no longer,
I'm gonna vote 'em on their arse.
I ain't got no time to buy no whitewash,
No time to think about no class.
Gonna line the lot against the wall,
These right dishonourable twats,
Then I'm gonna get in Rentokil,
Just free London of these rats.

This house sends your British soldier,
Into wars with pee-poor kit.
The whole house is run by traitors,
The whole house is full of it.
The whole house is haemorrhaging,
The whole nation's income tax.
Oh, the house, its days are numbered,
Oh, the house is gonna face the axe.

In this ole house hide social rejects,
All racketeering, on the take.
Nigh-on seven-hundred idiots,
Wheeling, dealing, on the make.
The house, with thieves contaminated,
Both red commie and blue toff,
The house is full of useless, greedy pigs,
Swilling fees (oink!) in their trough.

I'm gonna make them walk the plank,
I'm gonna finish their criminal waste,
And then, with one dose of strychnine,
The house tea, it shall be laced.
Gonna end indulgence, moonlighting,
Then I'd change their attitudes.
When the noose is tightening, sunshine,
Time then you were abolished, dudes!

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Keep this philosophy in mind every time you hear, or are about to spread a rumour.

Back in ancient Greece, Socrates was widely known and lauded for his wisdom. One day the acclaimed philosopher chanced upon an acquaintance, who dashed up to him excitedly and announced, "Hey, Socrates! Do you know what I have just heard about one of your students...?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me, I'd like you to take a small test. It's called the Test of Three."

"The Test of Three?"

"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before talking of my student let us take a moment to test what you are going to say. The first test is Truth. Have you made sure that what you are going to tell me is true?"

"No," the man replied, "in fact, I have only just heard about it."

"Right then," added Socrates. "So you don't really know if it's true or not. And now let's try the second test; the Test of Goodness. Is what you are going to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary..."

"All right," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him even though you don't know for certain that it's true?"

The man looked down awkwardly, and it was obvious that he was growing very embarrassed.

Socrates continued, "You may still pass though because there's a third and final test, named the Filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, I think, probably not..."

"Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to relate is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, then why tell me at all?"

The man was now deflated and ashamed, and he said no more.

And this is why Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.

It also explains why Socrates never found out that Plato was banging his wife.


A Louisianian rancher passed away and left his estate and possessions to his spouse. The spouse, an extremely attractive woman, was eager to keep the successful ranch going but knew little about such matters, so she put out a classified ad for a ranch-labourer to assist her.

Two cowboys applied for the job. One, Matt, was gay and the other, Russ, a drunk. The woman thought about it at length and, as no one else applied, settled on Matt, the gay guy, assuming it would be safer to have him around the house than Russ the lush.

Matt proved to be a loyal, courteous employee who put in long hours every day and knew a lot about ranch duties too. For weeks, the two of them toiled industriously together, and the ranch progressed well.

One day, the widow said to Matt, 'You've done a really excellent job, and the ranch is a great success. You should go out on the town and treat yourself to a seriously riotous time!' she laughed.

Matt eagerly agreed and went into town that Saturday night.

One o'clock came and Matt had not returned. Two o'clock came and he'd still not returned. Eventually, he came in at around two-thirty. On entering the room, he found the rancher's widow sitting on the settee with a glass of wine, waiting for him.

She stood up and quietly called him over to her.

'Unbutton my blouse and take it off,' she said.

Hands trembling, Matt did as she said.

'Now take off my boots.'

Slowly, he did as she said.

ŌNow my stockings.'

He cautiously removed each and put them on the carpet.

'Now take off my skirt.'

Reticently, Matt unbuttoned it, constantly watching her eyes in the firelight.

'Now take off my bra.'

He obeyed, letting let it drop to the floor.

Then she looked him in the eye and said, 'If you ever wear my clothes into town again, you're fired.'

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By Joanna Fuchs

Since my Valentine got a computer
My love life has taken a hit.
Nothing I say is important
Unless itÕs a byte or a bit.

Before she got her new laptop,
Everything was just fine;
Now she says we canÕt talk
Unless we both go online.

"But honey," I said, "IÕm attached to you;
Love is what I feel."
"That keyword isnÕt relevant,"
She said, with eyes of steel.

She clicked the keyboard furiously;
The screen was all she could see,
And then to my horror and shame,
She started describing me:

"Your motherboard needs upgrading;
Your OS needs help, too.
And you definitely need a big heatsink
To cool your CPU."

"DonÕt flame me, my sweet," I pleaded.
"Not on ValentineÕs Day."
"Fix the bugs, and IÕll see," she said,
While looking at me with dismay.

"What ever you want, my darling;
Whatever you need; you call it.
IÕll upload or download anything,
And then IÕll go install it."

(Her hostile CD keeps replaying,
And though I donÕt want to fight her,
Is this what I want for a Valentine?
IÕve been burned; can I rewrite her?)

"Are you all hard drive now," I asked
"Is there no software in you?
DonÕt you remember the good times?
Let our memories see us through."

"LOL," she said to me, chuckling.
"YouÕre nothing but adware.
"IÕve got four gigs of memory;
IÕve got no problem there."

"Please, honey, we can save it," I said.
"Our love means more than that."
"ThatÕs not in my cache; weÕre going to crash,"
She said, as she turned me down flat.

(This woman has really changed;
Do I really want to chase her?
More and more IÕm thinking
It might be nice to erase her.)

"Aw, honey, donÕt talk like that," I said.
"CanÕt we just plug and play?
I hereby accept default,
And IÕm yours, my love, come what may.

My goal is to make you happy;
I want to be your portal,
But your sudden, distant coldness
Would test the strongest mortal.

If we need a brand new interface,
So we can FTP,
IÕm your go along, get along guy,
And I want you to stay with me."

"If you want to get into my favorites," she said,
And you want to get past my encryption,
If you want to get through my firewall,
Here is my only prescription."

"First, put up your own Web site,
And e-mail me when itÕs done.
IÕll check your page rank with Google,
And tell you if youÕre the one."

My life has become a real trial,
Since my Valentine got a computer.
If I want her to care about me again,
I guess IÕll have to reboot her.


Here's a humorous, touching story
This person can never forget.
It made the rounds many years ago
Out there on the internet.

About a little boy, he goes to his Pa
One unusual September morn
And halfheartedly asks, "Daddy,
Can you tell me how was I born?"

The father instinctively answers,
"Well, son, I guess one day
No matter how I try to conceal it,
You will need to find out anyway!

"Here is how we first met,
Your gorgeous Momma and tumid I.
It was a slow, sleepy evening
In the glorious month of July.

"She was sufficiently bored
And I had nothing to do
So we both got together
In a chat room on Yahoo.

"I kinda liked the vivacity in her,
She kinda liked the spirit in me
She sent a soothing smile, I sent a wink;
We had to meet eventually.

"I sent her a comic, funny photo
From my trusty point-and-shoot.
She sent me a jpeg attachment,
Oh, she was so fairly cute!

"I was a lonely individual, okay?
She was eighteen, a single female.
So we inspiringly set up a date
Via Google's noteworthy Gmail.

"The following free week break
On a muggy, hot-air Tuesday
We agreed to see each other
There at a nearby cyber-cafe.

"As soon as I saw her keyboard
My interactive heart went boom!
As she grabbed my animated mouse,
We snuck into an unoccupied room.

"My pulse was beating faster,
I felt luckily great to be alive
When your mother gigglingly agreed
To a download from my hard drive.

"I thought my biggest problem
Would be the power supply;
A dead useless battery
Would've just made me cry!

"Though that wasn't a worry
As my adrenalin unflinchingly flowed
But a fear came over panicky me
As soon as I was ready to upload.

"Of all the critical things that we
Unthinkingly forgot to install!
We discovered that neither one of us
Oh, no! -- had used a firewall!

"Situationally, it was good as done;
Incipiently almost complete
And terribly too late to circuitously
Hit the button DELETE.

"I then was the most impatient
Dummy you have ever seen;
Continuously every hour every day
I'd check my blank screen.

"The excitement increased
As the big happy day neared
And nine long months later, wow!
A little pop-up appeared..."

And the lovely, honeymoon ending
To this modern fictitious tale
Is the intriguingly clever punchline

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`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
`Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
`And has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The author Charles Lutwidge Dodgson,
Better known by the name Lewis Carroll,
Though vehement mathematician, church theologist, logician,
Misbehaved, exhibiting bawdy photos controversial.

By the way, he suffered mammoth headaches
Thought to have befuddled consciousness,
Blackout, even stem hemorrhage, that led to a wobbly shake,
And baffling bouts of jittery nervousness.

By the way, that man was the Father of Wordplay;
When with brain whims he'd dabble,
He'd outwit mates at what's known as 'Word Ladder' today,
Then hatched that jolly new game - 'Scrabble'.

Meanwhile, the gem 'Alice in Wonderland,
The jewel 'Through the Looking Glass',
Brimming with bedtime sojourns to a new distant land,
Mummy's Mother Goose habit had by far surpassed.

By the way, the through-the-bedchamber-mirror book
Awakened high joyous jubilation,
Though the jibber-jabbered gobbledygook
Just stalemated clarification!

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[Virgil's poetic description is anagrammed into a yearning bride's ode, which also outlinesŹa volcano when the letters comprising the word 'Etna' are marked and the letterŹL (Lava) is colored red in the poem's body.]

The port capacious, and secure from wind,
Is to the foot of thund'ring Etna joined.
By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high:
By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,
And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.
Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,
And shivered by the force come piece-meal down.
Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,
Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.

Burnt Remnant Of A Pain Felt Beneath

How do I miss my groom's firm hug!
My dour odes all long for you,
Your broken smiles and comic shrug;
Your skin or all the tricks you do.
How ripe I felt last March, if brisk!
Such peaceful inlet of tomorrows,
Of free thrill-seeking and of risk;
Swift, gentle love - quite void of sorrow...
Shreds can enable one sad nip
Without the bubbly springs to sip,
Yet fresh-fetched haven can't forbid
The faint jolt the enchantment hid.