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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"If you're going to kill each other, can you do it outside... I've just finished cleaning."

My Parents taught me RELIGION.
"You'd just better pray that will come out of the carpet."

My Parents taught me about TIME TRAVEL.
"I warn you; if you don't stop and sort yourself out, I am going to knock you into the middle of next week!"

My Parents taught me LOGIC.
"Why? Because I said so, that's why."

My Parents taught me even MORE LOGIC.
"If you fall off that swing and end up breaking your neck, you're not coming to the store with me."

My Parents taught me FORESIGHT.
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."

My Parents taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper"

My Parents taught me about CONTORTIONISM.
"Will you look at the dirt on the back of your neck!"

My Parents taught me about STAMINA.
"You'll stay there until all your spinach is gone."

My Parents taught me about WEATHER.
"Oh, my; this room of yours looks as if a tornado just went through it."

My Parents taught me about HYPOCRISY.
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Do not exaggerate!"

My Parents taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT.
"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up."

My Parents taught me IRONY.
"Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about."

My Parents taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE.
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

My Parents taught me to exercise BEHAVIOUR MODIFICATION.
"Stop acting like your father!"

My Parents taught me all about ENVY.
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have extra-special parents like you do."

My Parents taught me ANTICIPATION.
"Just wait till we get home."

My Parents taught me about RECEIVING.
"Oh, you are so going to get it when we get home!"

My Parents taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE.
"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to get stuck that way, so look out!"

My Parents taught me ESP.
"Come on, stop messing about and put that sweater on; I know you're cold!"

My Parents taught me HUMOUR.
"If that lawn mower cuts off all of your toes, don't come running to me."

My Parents taught me all about GENETICS.
"Ha! You are just like your fool of a father."

My Parents taught me about my ROOTS.
"Shut the door after you. Do you think you were born in a barn?"

My Parents taught me about WISDOM.
"When you come to be my age, you'll understand."

And my special favourite:

My Parents taught me about JUSTICE.
"One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!"

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Small fruit tree after rain

Look at that small fruit tree after the rain:
It is full of raindrops and it swings them,
And magic luxury of it branches
Sparkles in the sunlight.

But if the sun is hidden, just for a while
All that magic disappears
It is again, as it was before,
Ordinary, poor small tree.

A Tear

If a dear, tacit girl smiles at me,
tears of happiness you'll see.
Flickering pearls transit a face
in a shining light of her astral eye.

If now fatal minx flirts with other artful stud
just wait, don't gird, perhaps I'll start to blub .
Thus, remains humid, as burr-ruined skin
of a hot, irate, old man.

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Moses supposes his toeses are roses,
But Moses supposes erroneously.

Moses possesses a spouse he oppresses.
Moses, sure brute -- notoriously!

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Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
"You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
"Hi! Slippy hitherao!
"Water, get it! Panee lao
"You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted " Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
"You put some juldee in it
"Or I'll marrow you this minute
"If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick' on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water green.
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen"
"'E's chawin' up the ground,
"An' 'e's kickin' all around:
"For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink" sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen.
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!


In a street down Wapping way
There's a greasy spoon cafe
And a shop that smells of cat's pee and pot-pourri,
An' a gaudy bistro bar,
But most popular by far,
Is the one 'n' only Gunga Din Tandoori.
It's the local restaurant
Of the Wapping bon vivants,
And fancy folk who want food 'ot 'n' spicy,
But the biggest Gunga fan
Is me best pal, 'Hungry' Dan,
Who'd eat as much grub there as 'e could cram in.
'E'd tweet: "I love the Din!
"The curry's pukka at the Gunga Din!
"Every meal's a winner,
"It's why I eat me dinner,
"Lunch and brekky right 'ere at the Gunga Din!"

Me, I don't like Indian fare
The curry curls me 'air!
I need cuisine to be a little weaker,
Like bully beef or walnut whips,
An' deep-fried cod 'n' chips,
No, I wouldn't know a tarka from a tikka.
And would you kindly tell me,
Where's the fun in 'Delhi belly'?
And in gobbling muck that turns yer entrails raw?
I got better things to do
Than spend all day in the loo,
I prefer to slit me wrists or go to war!
I truly wouldn't win,
Dinin' at the Gunga Din,
Unlike Dan who, if 'e could, would move right in!

One July, when I went by,
From the corner of me eye,
Through the tinted window of the Gunga Din,
I saw diners eating dishes
That looked downright suspicious,
And a pretty Indian waitress, young and slim,
With shiny, long black 'air,
An' a sari... well I swear,
I fell deep in love with 'er there on the spot!
Me 'eart urged, "Go in and see 'er!"
While me 'ead yelled, "Yes I concur,"
But me stomach begged, "Don't order nothin' hot!"
So I duly blundered in
To the deep recesses of the Gunga Din...
With a smile as bright as sun
She said, "Hi! Table for one?"
I saw Dan and quickly said, "No... I'm with 'im!"
When I went to Hungry Dan,
'E jeered, "Hey; you ain't a fan
Of curry, 'fact you hate it, bro!" 'e grinned.

"Yeah, I know," I said,
"But me 'eart 'as ruled me 'ead,
"And I got the 'ots for that girl in the sari!"
'E laughed, "Well, join the queue!
"Cause it ain't only you;
"I want 'er badly too - 'er name is Kari;
"Aw, I'm nuts about 'er, man,
"I'm 'er numero uno fan;
"Why'd you think I bleedin eat 'ere every day!"
I grunted, "Well, I'm 'ere
"So I gotta buy a beer."
Then I quizzed 'im on what 'e thought I could eat.
"Well," 'e grinned, "don't worry,
"I know a mild but truly unique curry;
"You must try a vindaloo,
"The mutton one'll do,
"Kari's coming, make yer mind up - go on, 'urry!"

Well, the food resembled gruel
With a touch o' nuclear fuel,
But it tasted what uranium would taste like,
I gurgled, glugged and coughed
While Dan laughed 'is 'ead off.
Me windpipe felt like it was set alight,
Me nose was runnin', weepin'
Dan was laughing, leapin',
'E said, "I ain't 'ad so much fun in just one night.
And there was I, poor soul,
Belly filled with red-'ot coals,
And the bleedin' diners laughin' at me plight
But Kari saw me strife
And gi' me the kiss of life,
Double-quick; whew! Made me high! I turned to goo.
And I'll tell you what ensued:
The best man won... now Kari is me wife!

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[On November 8, Super Typhoon HAIYAN barrelled through the Philippines, destroying cities and towns in its path. As of this writing, the death toll from Typhoon Haiyan has reached 5,235 with a further 1,613 missing. STORMY WEATHER, the 1933 song written by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, is anagrammed into the last verse of BLOWIN' IN THE WIND, the 1962 Bob Dylan song, interspersed with this author's take on what transpired that fateful day]

by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time

Life is bare, gloom and mis'ry everywhere
Stormy weather
Just can't get my poorself together,
I'm weary all the time
So weary all the time
When he went away the blues walked in and met me.
If he stays away old rockin' chair will get me.

All I do is pray the Lord above will let me walk in the sun once more.
Can't go on, ev'ry thing I had is gone
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time.


Yes, how many times
Must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?

Wild intensity,
A gusty savage killer
Knocked down a tree.
One girl lost her weak mother.

Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?

I ache, a miracle tiny,
A little meal, I hunger.
A nightmare jolts the moment, I worry.
Wretched smell, grey matter.

Yes, how many deaths
Will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?

I regret the mortality,
A long torment
Altering the reality.
World's martyred end.

The answer my friend
Is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

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Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat,
Won't you please put a penny in the old man's hat?
If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do;
If you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you!

Then the gangly atheist coined a snappy epilogue:
Guys may not want a chapel, even a synagogue -
Why not begin my option, name it Festivus,
And plan on "the holiday for the rest of us"?

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[As a tribute to the 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address celebrated this November, Lincoln's speech is anagrammed into a poem about an old battlefield that contains a relevant acrostic down its left side - as well as a visual constraint, detailed below:]

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

A virtual voyage in a battlefield's heart

That wealth at noon was quite a view
Here, in the field; how good to note
Each heather here prevailed and grew:
Great growth had formed a heavy coat.
Each youthful bird soared in the air,
Too smooth, too blithe and too naive.
That view may look too fine and fair,
Yet we once heard that looks deceive.
So, what faint thing can no one peep,
Beneath that view of peace and cheer,
Unheard-of, worn and wedged too deep,
Remaining faint too long, for years?
Great fear once ailed that stretch of land,
All through that time of pained contention;
Death governed it when legions grand
Did rotten things we wouldn't mention.
Respected war-gods clenched their teeth,
Each striving to maintain their might;
Steel sabers shot out of their sheaths,
So fiercely keen to clinch those fights;
But clever Earth, then scorched and dried,
Yearned to correct that dream we shattered;
A lot of troops that toiled there died,
But to that earth, it barely mattered:
Red poppies grow where brothers fought
And blades of grass where bodies fell.
Hate, pain and grievance were for naught,
Around that growth where pine trees dwell.
Men, blood-lust and their cannon's flare
Leave no vague trace out here, it seems,
In one vast piece of Heaven, where
No force but Nature reigned supreme.
Cool winds invade all that survived
On heavy vines that brave that chill.
Life carried on - it wants to thrive,
Now that the ground has had its fill.

[In case you haven't spotted it yet, here's a smaller display. This poem is actually Lincoln's silhouette:]

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Forrest Gump Goes to Heaven (old joke)

The day finally arrives: Forrest Gump dies and goes to Heaven. The Pearly Gates are closed, and Forest approaches the gatekeeper, Saint Peter.

Saint Peter says, "Well, Forrest, it's certainly good to see you. We have heard so much about you. I must inform you that the place is filling up fast, and we're administering an entrance examination for everyone. This test is fairly short, but you need to pass before you can get into Heaven."

Forrest responds, "It shore is good to be here, Saint Peter. I was looking forward to this. Nobody ever told me about any entrance exam. Shore hope the test ain't too hard, 'cos life was a big enough test as it was."

Saint Peter goes on, "I know Forrest. But, the test I have for you isn't difficult. It's only a few questions. Here is the first: What days of the week begin with the letter 'T'? Then, secondly, how many seconds are there in a year? And, third, what is the first name of God?"

Forrest goes away to think the questions over. He returns the next day and goes up to Saint Peter to try to answer the exam questions.

Saint Peter waves him up and asks, "Now that you have had a chance to think the questions over, can you tell me your answers?"

Forrest replies, "Well, the first one - How many days of the week begin with 'T'? Shucks, that one's simple; that would be two: Today and Tomorrow!"

Saint Peter's eyes are wide open as he exclaims, "Forrest! That's not quite what I am thinking of, though you do have a point. I admit I was not specific, so I agree to go ahead and give you credit for the statement."

"How about the next one?" says Saint Peter. "Did you figure out how many seconds there are in a year?"

"Hey, that was a lot harder," notes Forrest softly, "But, I thunk and thunk about the question myself, and I guess the answer can only be twelve."

Saint Peter stifles a guffaw, "Twelve! Twelve! Forrest, how in Heaven's name does one get twelve seconds in a year?"

In a moment, Forrest offers, "Oh, you see, it's gotta be twelve: January second, February second, March second, April second, May second...."

"Hold it, stop right there!" Saint Peter hushes Forrest. "I see where you're going. I get the scope of the point, and although it isn't quite the textbook answer, I'll give you credit for that one too."

"Let's go on to the next and final question," says Saint Peter, "Can you tell me the first name of God?"

Forrest does not hesitate, "Well shore, I know God's first name. That's obvious. Everybody probly knows - it's Howard."

"Howard?" asks Saint Peter. "So, tell me, what makes you think it's 'Howard'?"

Forest states, "See, it's in the Prayer."

"Prayer?" asks Saint Peter, "What prayer?"

"The Lord's Prayer," Forrest points out, "Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Howard be thy name..."

The gate opens.