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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George Michael

I feel so unsure
As I take your hand
And lead you to the dance floor
As the music dies
Something in your eyes
Calls to mind a silver screen
And all its sad goodbyes


I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool
I should have known better than to cheat a friend
And waste a chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

Time can never mend
The careless whisper of a good friend
To the heart and mind
Ignorance is kind
There's no comfort in the truth
Pain is all you'll find


Tonight the music seems so loud
I wish that we could lose this crowd
Maybe it's better this way
We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say
We could have been so good together
We could have lived this dance forever
But now who's gonna dance with me
Please stay


Now that you've gone
Now that you've gone
Now that you've gone
Was what I did so wrong
So wrong that you had to leave me alone

George Michael

I feel so unreal,
As I start the car
And try to find the steerin' wheel.
When I glide away
Hear a wee voice say,
"Deluded nut, you should not drive
Away 'cause you may not survive!"

I'm never gonna drive again,
Now that I'm banged up in prison,
What a fool, I can't defend,
The way I crashed the car.
Should have known better than to smoke that spliff
Then speed off, wasted, with blurred vision,
No I'm never gonna drive again
The way I used to do.

Days seem without end,
Held in a cell, without a fag or a close friend,
Ignorance ain't bliss
With no cannabis,
There's no highs in cold stewed tea,
All you do is pee!


Tonight those voices seem so loud.
I hate these uncouth convict crowds,
Wish that they would stay away,
The inmates want to get me 'cause they know I'm gay,
Going to the washroom's rough,
When cornered by twelve tattooed toughs,
Dare not even chance to turn my back...
Hey, let go...!


Hang on, hang on,
Have to hang on,
Oh... ouch! Oh, no,
It all seems so wrong,
Lay some weed on me, I need to get stoned!

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[A set of twenty chemical elements, anagrammed into a different set of twenty elements. All forty elements are distinct from the sixty used in Mike Keith's 30/30 doubly-true anagram here]

lithium + chlorine + potassium + titanium + copper + arsenic + yttrium + cadmium + barium + gadolinium + gold + polonium + radon + americium + einsteinium + fermium + rutherfordium + dubnium + hassium + roentgenium

neon + sulfur + gallium + germanium + strontium + technetium + indium + iodine + promethium + dysprosium + holmium + iridium + lead + astatine + francium + radium + protactinium + seaborgium + bohrium + copernicium

[If you replace each element with its atomic number (position in the periodic table), there is still equality, making this a 20/20 doubly-true anagram.]

3 + 17 + 19 + 22 + 29 + 33 + 39 + 48 + 56 + 64 + 79 + 84 + 86 + 95 + 99 + 100 + 104 + 105 + 108 + 111

10 + 16 + 31 + 32 + 38 + 43 + 49 + 53 + 61 + 66 + 67 + 77 + 82 + 85 + 87 + 88 + 91 + 106 + 107 + 112

[Thus, combining this 20/20 element anagram with Mike Keith's 30/30 anagram yields a 50/50 doubly-true anagram of 100 of the 118 currently named elements.]

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Nancy Reagan's Letter of Forgiveness to John Hinckley:

People could all learn so much from this elegant and gracious lady.

You might recall that John Hinckley was a seriously deluded and deranged young man who shot President Reagan in 1981.

Hinckley was absolutely obsessed with movie star Jodie Foster and, inside his twisted mind, loved Jodie so much that, to make himself well regarded by her, he decided to assassinate President Reagan. But his attempt failed - the President was wounded but survived.

There is speculation that Hinckley may soon be released, having been considered as rehabilitated. Consequently, you will all appreciate the following letter from Nancy Reagan to John Hinckley:

To: John Hinckley
From: Mrs. N. Reagan

My family and I wanted to drop you a short note to tell you how pleased we are with the great strides you are making in your recovery.

In accordance with our country's spirit of understanding and forgiveness, we wanted you to know that we bear no grudge against you for shooting President Reagan.

We are fully aware that extreme mental stress and pain could well have driven you to commit such a desperate act.

We're confident that you will soon make a complete recovery and return to your family to rejoin the world as a healthy and productive man.

Best wishes,

Nancy Reagan and Family

P.S. While you have been incarcerated, President Barack Obama has been banging Jodie Foster like a screen door in a tornado. You might want to look into that.

A Key Way to Rearrange Our System.

Easy! Let's put the seniors in jail, and the criminals in a nursing home.

This way the seniors would enjoy access to showers; hobbies; a walking (or jogging) area and any games they enjoy; they'd have unlimited free dental and medical treatment, wheel chairs etc. They'd learn new work-skills and receive money instead of paying it out.

They would have constant video monitoring, so they would be helped instantly if they fell or needed emergency assistance.

Bedding would be washed twice weekly and their clothing ironed and returned to them as new.

A guard would look in on them by arrangement every twenty minutes, and bring their meals and snacks to their cell.

They'd enjoy family visits in a suite built for that purpose.

They would enjoy access to a library, a weight room, a pool, humane spiritual counselling and education breaks.

Basic clothing. Shoes, slippers, pyjamas, are free, and any legal aid can be arranged on request.

Private, secure rooms for all, with an outdoor exercise yard, with gardens.

For entertainment, each senior would have a PC, a TV, a radio, and make daily phone calls.

There would be a Governor and a board of 11 directors, to hear any complaints, and the guards would have a code of conduct that they must strictly adhere to.

The 'crooks' would get near-cold food, be left alone and unsupervised, lights off at 8pm, and a shower once a week. Must live in a tiny room for eternity, and pay $9K per month with no hope of getting out.

Justice for all. Ok?

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A man with a bald head and wooden leg is invited to a Hallowe'en
party. He doesn't know what to wear, and writes to a fancy-dress
company for help

He receives a parcel with this note: 'Please find enclosed a Pirate's
outfit. The spotted handkerchief will cover your head, and with your
wooden leg you will make a good pirate.'

The man thinks that is a grave insult so writes back to complain.
He gets sent a further parcel with a note: 'Please find enclosed
a Monk's habit. With your leg and your head, you will look the part.'

The incensed man writes yet another letter. Next morning, a smaller
parcel arrives with this note: 'Please find enclosed a jar of caramel.
Pour the caramel on that bald head of yours, stick your wooden leg
up your ass, and go as a Candy Apple.'


There once was a bald-headed ghost, who
Drank up a foul-tasting witch brew.
When what should mutate
But a hat on his pate
And unexpectedly conical grew.

'It's scarcely ideal!' cried our ghostie
'What happened? An eyesore I see.
I prefer my pate flat,
Near naked e'en, that
Now seems to me a calamity!

A traditional look I prefer,
To depend on, not to deter
I'm a personal joke
I will even provoke:
'Who's that scruff?' Precisely, a slur.

The vile horror must end, I declare!
My weird looks draw attention...and scare.
All say I look ghastly,
Hair set like parsley,
An oddity of an author...Ms Eyre.'

So our ghost cast a vengeful spell, which
Warned: 'Now, straightaway go to Hell, Witch!'
And from that date on
Lives a phenomenon
A funny, bald-headed, Hallowe'en Witch!

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In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
or have they given up and all gone home to bed,
thinking those who once existed must be dead.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.


The people wish to see this heart-tugging story,
A hopeful movie of poor kin like me,
The tough men lost down in that mine in San Jose.

You won't look so fine, San Jose?
Sullenly you are doomed in the dark mine
Oh, do not leave me, God, take out this death sign, San Jose.

Muddied, you struggled with pain to see the sun,
Imagining all your weakest men are gone.
You know time, how long everyone waited;
Buried in crumbling muck, will you be excavated?

You won't look so fine, San Jose?
Sullenly you are doomed in the dark mine
Oh, do not leave me, God, take out this death sign, San Jose.

The people wish to see this heart-tugging story,
One hopeful movie of poor kin like me,
Of no tough men lost down in that mine in San Jose.

Now you look so fine, San Jose.
Suddenly you're alive, out that dark mine!
God simply listened, He took down that death sign, San Jose.

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While walking down the street one day, a corrupt Senator is tragically hit by a car and dies.

His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "But, before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're
not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in..." says the Senator.

"Well, I'd like to, but we have orders from the higher ups. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then, you can choose where you'd like to spend Eternity."

"Really? I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," says the Senator.

"I'm sorry, but we have our rules."

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.

The doors open and he finds himself in the center of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his buddies and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is dressed in evening attire and happy beyond belief! They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about all the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. After having played a friendly game of golf, they dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.

Also present is the Devil, who is really a very friendly guy and is having a fabulous time dancing and telling jokes.

They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go.

Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.

The elevator goes up to the top floor and the doors reopen in Heaven. St. Peter is waiting for him. "Hi! Okay, it's time to go to Heaven..."

Twenty-four hours pass with the Senator joining a group of contented souls, migrating from ethereal white cloud to fleecy white cloud, playing musical harps and lyres, singing holy hymns in unity. They have a very nice time. Before he realizes it, the Saint returns.

"Well, you've spent one day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now, choose your own eternity."

The Senator hesitates for a minute, then answers, "Gee, I would never have said it before...I mean Heaven has been delightful; however, I think I may be better off in Hell."

St. Peter escorts him to the elevator, says, "Bye!" and he speeds down to Hell.

When the elevator doors open at the bottom, he's standing in disbelief on a barren hillside, covered in waste and decayed garbage. He sees the stylish friends, dressed in filthy rags, weaker and ill, picking up trash and putting it in a bag, as more trash falls down from above.

The Devil awaits him, "Hello!" Then, he reaches out to the politician and puts an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey! I-I-I-I don't believe it!" the Senator stammers. "Yesterday I played golf here, saw the extravagant clubhouse while everyone fed me delicious lobster and caviar. I drank the sweetest champagne and had an ideal heyday, yet suddenly there's just this wasteland of vile garbage! My friends look so miserable. What happened here?"

The Devil unleashes a hollow demonic howl, "We lie, lad! Yesterday, we were campaigning. Today, you voted."

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The rescue of the trapped Chilean miners

Needful copper in the Earth.
Locate...penetrate... much friendship's here!
Feel the crash! It's our men in the deep crap.
Salute perfect comradeship in here, then.
See clan in much heat, therefore stripped.
Document the Fahrenheit scale...perspire!
The furnace, their hopeless predicament.
Such Christian people: "Father entered me!"
Force applied...these three machines turn.
Deep in, force pierces that human shelter.
Epic months, space under the Earth...relief!
Complete, after the crude Spanish in here!
Help retina...them shades on. Cut-price? Free!
Prepared line inches them to the surface.
Their freedom! Chaps escape their tunnel!
I filmed each run, then repeat the process.

Unhampered release, no's perfect!
Pure enterprise...the chance of death slim!
Cheer as men rose, left pit, punched the air!
Pinera, the President...some cheerful chat.
After the punches, helicopter raised men.
The hard men left site, secure in a chopper.
Let's cheer fathers reunited in Camp Hope!
Furnace, then speech time: "Praise the lord!"
Up! Pat children, see mother, father, nieces...
Picture, hospital research, then men feed.
Most in nice shape? Er, perfect rude health!
Manchester United free trip each!
Home in the end...such real perfect parties!
The reaper? "Crap!", he fumes. (Incident he lost!)
Compensated...the entire parish cheerful!
See, isn't life much dearer than the copper?
Pile of cash...purchase retirement. The end.

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[A segment from the witches' chant in 'Macbeth' anagrammed into a poem about Halloween props, in which a relevant form appears when the letters EVIL are "carved out" in the poem's body text]

A small sample from a coven's spell verses found in the play "MacBeth"

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

The Halloween-Minded Items We Schemed

Evil frock and odd, dark veil,
Leopard fangs and cotton tail,
Lush chiffon or shocking gore,
Purposeless and hostile roars;
Wart peeled off a killer frog,
Taffy "livers" of live "dogs",
Tartan, worn high on our brat,
Thumbs that bleed or hobo hat,
Short, fat-bellied candy bags,
Madcap vagrant's darkest rags;
Gummy, simple, fiendish worms
Mask a pale, ill being's form...
Let's conduct that fancy-free,
Vile and doom-fraught jubilee!