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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An American man boarded an aircraft at London's Heathrow Airport to return to New York. He took his seat and started to settle himself in. As he was doing so, he noticed a strikingly beautiful woman walking down the aisle.

He saw she was heading straight towards his seat and - much to his joy - she took the seat right next to him!

"Hi," he blurted out, "Are you on a business trip or vacation?"

She turned, smiled enchantingly and replied, "Business. I am going over to the annual Nymphomaniac Convention in New York City."

He swallowed hard. Heck! Here was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, sitting right next to him, and she was going to a meeting for nymphomaniacs!

Struggling to maintain his composure, he coolly asked, "What's your, er... business role at the convention?"

"I'm a lecturer," she responded, "I use my experience to disprove a few of the popular myths about sexuality."

"Really?" he smiled, "what myths are those?"

"Well," she explained, "one very popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed when, in fact, it's the native American Indian who's most likely to possess that trait.

"Another very popular myth is that French men make the best lovers, when actually it's the men of Greek descent.

"We have also found that the best potential lovers in all of the categories are Irish men."

Suddenly the woman became very uncomfortable and blushed. "I am so sorry," she said. "I really should not be discussing this with you; I don't even know your name!"

"Tonto," the man replied. "Tonto Papadopoulos, but my friends call me Paddy."

Whilst in China, an American man is sexually promiscuous and doesn't use a condom while he's there.

A week after arriving home in the States, he wakes up one morning to find his manhood is covered all over in hellish, bright green and purple spots.

Horrified, he immediately goes to see his doctor. The practitioner, never having seen anything like this before, orders some tests and tells him to return in two days for the results.

The man turns up two days later and the GP announces, "I have rather bad news. You've contracted Mongolian VD. It's very rare and almost unheard of here in the US; we know little about it."

The man looks a little perplexed and says, "Right... then just give me a pill or a strong shot of something that'll fix me up."

The GP answers bluntly, "Listen, I'm sorry, but there is no known cure. We'll have to amputate."

The man screams in horror, "Absolutely not! A million times no! I want a second opinion."

The GP sighs, "Well, it's your choice. Do that if you want, but surgery is your only option."

The next day, the man locates a Chinese doctor, figuring that he'd know more about this disease.

The Chinese doctor examines him and then proclaims, "Ah, yes, Mongolian VD. Vewy ware disease."

The man replies, "Yeah, yeah, I already know this; so, what can be done about it? My American GP wants to remove my manhood!"

The Chinese doctor shakes his head and laughs. "Stupid American dottahs, always want opawate. Make more money dat way. No need amputate!"

"Oh, thank the Lord!" blubs the man.

"Yes," says the Chinese doctor. "Wait two weeks. Fall off by itself...!"

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The New Miracle Cat Diet

For the record, most diets fail because humans are still thinking and eating like humans. Except for loved cats who eat like humans -- enjoying tons of table scraps at
home -- most cats are long and lean (or dainty and slinky). The Miracle Cat Diet will help humans achieve unbelievably gorgeous, lanky, svelte figures.

So, for those humans out there who have never had any luck dieting, I outline the New Miracle Cat Diet:

Breakfast: Open a tin of expensive "no-byproducts" gourmet cat food -- any flavor as long as it cost more than a dollar per can -- and place just one tablespoon centrally on your plate. Eat only a bite of food, then look around the room disdainfully. Knock the rest on the floor. Stare unwaveringly toward the wall for awhile before you pivot and stalk off into another room.

Lunch: Four blades of grass and a lizard's tail. Throw it back up, convulsively, on a conspicuous spot on your new stark white carpet.

Dinner: Catch a pretty moth and bat the thing until it slows down, looks sluggish, and is nearly dead. Pull off a wing. Leave by the wool rug to nibble on tomorrow.

Bedtime snack: Steal one green bean from your mate or partner's plate. Roll it around until it goes under the refrigerator. Steal one piece of grilled chicken and eat half of it. Leave the other half to mellow on the sofa. Throw out the dry gourmet cat food from the tin you opened this morning.

Breakfast: Pick up the remaining chicken bit from the sofa. Knock it down onto the carpet and bat it under the television. Chew on the newspaper as your mate or partner tries to read it.

Lunch: Break into the fresh French bread that you bought downtown as your part of the dinner party on the weekend. Lick the crust all over. Take a bite from the center of the loaf.

Afternoon snack: Catch a large beetle and bring it into the house. Play toss and catch with it until it is mushy and half dead. Allow it to escape under the settee.

Dinner: Open a fresh can of gourmet cat food -- tuna or beef works well. Eat voraciously. Walk from your kitchen to the edge of the living room rug. Promptly throw up the dark-colored paste on the rug. Step into it as you leave. Track footprints across the entire room.

Breakfast: Drink part of the milk from your mate or partner's cereal bowl when no one is looking. Splatter part of it on the closest polished aluminum appliance you can find.

Lunch: Catch a small bird and bring it into the house. Hop up on the bed and tease it on top of the down-filled comforter. Make sure that it is seriously injured but not dead before you abandon it for someone else to have to deal with.

Dinner: Beg and cry until you are given some ice cream or milk in a bowl of your own. Take three laps and then turn the bowl over on the floor. Take a sunbath.

Breakfast: Eat six bugs, any type, being sure to leave a collection of legs, wings and antennae on the bathroom floor. Drink lots of warm water. Throw the bugs and all of the water up on your mate or partner's pillow.

Lunch: Remove the chicken skin from last night's chicken-to-go leftovers your mate or partner had placed in the trash can. Drag the skin across the floor several times. Chew it in the corner and then abandon.

Dinner: Open another can of expensive gourmet cat food. Select a flavor that is especially runny, like Chicken and Giblets in Gravy. Lick off all the gravy and leave the actual meat to dry and get hard.

Just follow this amazing diet for a week and you'll find that you not only feel better, but you will have a whole new outlook on what constitutes food!

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Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

(Lie la lie ... )

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

(Lie la lie ... )

And I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

(Lie la lie ...)

Muhammad Ali
(An American Superstar)

I'm the former fighter,
Cassius Marcellus Clay,
I was raised, with one kid brother,
By ma 'n' pa in Louisville, Kentucky, USA,
I always knew
I'd emerge the greatest at whatever
Thing I chose to do.

When some cop suggested boxing to me,
I was no more than a boy,
I'd just had my cycle stolen
And I swore, "Oh, man, I'll get that jerk
Then whup his sorry ass!"
Smiling, he said: "To fight them, to be equal,
You first have to learn the game,
It's a noble art and boxing is its name."

(La-la learn...)

I won Olympic gold when I
Was just eighteen years old,
Hell, I was special,
Even then I knew I'd go on to be champion of the world,
I do confess, I was eloquent 'n' arrogant,
Yet, man, I was damn good!

(Hoo-ra rah...)

When I fought champ Sonny Liston, folk
All snorted: "He'll get killed!"
They were wrong,
Groggy, hurt 'n' bleeding he surrendered on his stool,
I'm still here. Liston's gone.

Now I feel feeble, I feel frail,
I have Parkinson's they say,
It's a lingering reminder
Of every glove that jarred my head
Into that queer 'half-dream room',
No clear memories remain,
No memories of men I fought,
Before it wrecked my brain.

(Young no more...)

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The ball has dropped and people are celebrating
January has come and with it the hope of a better year
Forward we look to the new horizon

But for some our gaze is stuck on the year behind
The people we lost, dreams that never blossomed
January is a doorway that some can never really cross

Our bodies move on but our souls stay behind
Time horrible time, the constant ticking of our lives
I bid all a wonderful, happy new year

Perhaps next year when the door opens again
The hurt will have subsided the memories faded away
And I shall cross with you all to that hopeful beginning


The thawed frost of JANUARY is extraordinary.
Our wholehearted love in FEBRUARY is red as a berry;
The rainbow in MARCH like a technicolor arch.

The happy sunlight in APRIL gilds a flowery hill
Where a pathway in MAY weaves a dolphin day.
A tattooed moon in JUNE disappears too soon.

The petulant heat in JULY beats the purple sky.
A voodoo wind in AUGUST blows that huge cloud of dust;
When a drizzle in SEPTEMBER rouses us sober.

The mahogany leaves in OCTOBER fade to amber;
The cold in NOVEMBER swathed people sombre,
As the snow in DECEMBER soothed gentlefolk to slumber.

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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"


'Twas the day after Christmas when Santa returned
As there was a small thing that he wanted to learn:
How his former short visit affected them all!
He wished to see people just having a ball.

He looked at each window in one vivid town...
But his chipper mood died and he wore a grave frown.
He saw no high spirits, not one celebration -
Those people were NOT full of Christmas elation.

They sat in each home with their faces all gray,
And stared at their Wiis and their iPhones all day.
The zombified children gaped blankly and drooled
While playing the new Candy Crush or Bejeweled.

They saw pets on Youtube (neglecting their own);
Each finger ran furiously on a phone...
This horror was harming their bodies and minds
And their dolls and hobbies were now left behind!

St. Nick had enough! He was mad, mad as hell!
He rushed to his workshop and, furious, yelled:
"Just what are those hellish machines you call 'toys'?
It hurts the poor kids! You're supposed to bring joy!

"From now on, the dang things that whiff of high-tech
Shall just go through me, for a personal check.
I'll fix this phenomenon once and for all..."
But Santa was wrong. This was not a good call.

When he used one iPhone, he was really hooked!
He sat gaping at Kindles with Stephen King books;
He Tweeted and Flickred well into the night
And Instagrammed selfies in chic black-and-white.

After many months, Christmas was nigh yet again -
But Santa still hadn't come out of his den!
His worried elves knew Santa had to be weaned:
It was time to unplug him from all his machines.

They tied him with sashes and one fluffy bow
While Santa was shaking there from head to toe;
They had him drink milk until they were all sure
That Santa, their hero, was finally cured.

But he had an idea! Oh, he wasn't quite through.
"My dear elves", he said, "there's one thing I should do."
He showed them the mainframes he wanted to hack
And then he commanded which ones to attack:

"Now Samsung! Now Sony! Now Apple! Now Dell!
Now LG and Nokia! Now AOL!
Upload all those viruses! Knock the lines down!
It is high time we took out the techies in town!"

And it worked! Everybody then shouted "Hurray"...
And something unusual happened that day.
With no wi-fi available in the whole place,
People actually started to talk FACE TO FACE!

The kids walked outside for the first time in days
Then, lo and behold - THEY ALL STARTED TO PLAY!
They ran in the parks, throwing snowballs with glee -
In short, they were being what children should be.

Now Santa was chuffed to the hundredth degree:
Both this town and himself were completely tech-free.
There was no single hellish device in his base...
Except for his iPad. You know, just in case.