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.


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

901

A man said to the universe:
'Sir, I exist!'
'However,' replied the universe,
'The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.'

In this Stephen Crane verse,
I see his ire - genuine vexation;
Life heads from bad to worse
To reach ultimate devastation!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

902

I Never Knew

I never knew about happiness;
I didn't think dreams came true;
I couldn't really believe in love,
Until I finally met you.

By Joanna Fuchs

Bet I may vanish in

A Pitfall Sulk

Valiant fine romance in June
Divinely tied the knot.
Now your beer belly churns me up
I see I've wed a drunken clot!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

903

Making Plans For Nigel - XTC

We're only making plans for Nigel
We only want what's best for him
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel just needs that helping hand

And if young Nigel says he's happy
He must be happy, he must be happy
He must be happy in his work

We're only making plans for Nigel
He has his future in a British steel
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel's whole future is as good as sealed

Yeah and if young Nigel says he's happy
He must be happy, he must be happy
He must be happy in his work

Nigel is not outspoken
He likes to speak
And loves to be spoken to
Nigel is happy in his work
Nigel feels happy in his work

We're only making plans for Nigel
We only want what's best for him
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel just needs this helping hand

And if young Nigel says he's happy
He must be happy, he must be happy
He must be happy in his work

We're only making plans for Nigel
We only want what's best for him
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel just needs this helping hand

We're only making plans for Nigel
He has his future in a British steel

Steel...steel...steel

We're only making plans for Nigel

Nigel...Nigel...Nigel

We're Making Winning Plans For UKIP

We kippers plan to knight Sir Nigel
We want shot of membership of the E.U.
To plank-walk, we want Tory weasels
(Then pushing Labour shysters hopefully, too!)

And if young Nigel seems highly happy
He's highly happy
He's highly happy
Drinking many beers in an English pub

We'll raise a glass of schnapps to Nigel
Also Kirsten, his wholesome Jerry wife
(Don't mention Mrs Farage is German)
Who Nigel employs, he enjoys his life

If young Nigel says his glass he'll raise
His glass he'll raise
To a day of purple and yellow
He shall down many a pint!

Fuming Nigel's frankly outspoken
When he tells Flemish damp rag Rumpy-Pumpy what to do
Nigel he's happy, drunk in the pub
(A tipple in the pub)
Nigel's blinking happy in the pub

No bananas legislation by Brussels!
Nanny-state tyranny...let's be free!
To end Merkel's nonsense fines we're helpless
(Though hands off his expenses as an M.E.P.!)

We English haemorrhage money to Europe
Fifty mil baksheesh every flipping day
Keep blankly sleepwalking, an unknown nightmare
Nige thinks now's high time to get away

Wake up to the new beginning! Join Nigel...Nigel...Nigel!


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

904

A man walks into a small Irish pub and orders three beers. The barman is surprised at such an unusual request, but he serves him the drinks anyway. An hour later the same guy orders another three beers.

The following day the same thing occurs: the man orders three beers again and drinks them quietly in the corner. This occurs many times and soon all the town is talking about the man who is ordering three beers at once.

A couple of weeks later, the curious bartender decides to clear up the mystery and inquires: "Hey, I don't wish to pry, but could you explain just why you order three beers every time?"

The man replies, "Oh, yeah, it does seem weird doesn't it? You see, my two brothers - Jake and Quincy - live abroad: one in Italy and one in France. We have an agreement that every time one of us goes into a pub he'll order a beer for each of the other two and so keep up the family unity."

Soon, the whole town had heard the man's story and liked it. He quickly became a local celebrity and the Irish townfolk were telling his story to newcomers and tourists and inviting them to the inn to show them ‘Three Beer Man'.

One day the man comes to the pub and orders only two beers, not the usual three. The barman serves him with a bad feeling.

All that night the man orders and drinks only two beers. Next day, the whole town is dejected and is talking about the sad news; some praying for the soul of one of the departed brothers, some quietly grieving.

When the man comes to the pub and gets only two drinks again, the barman says: "I would like to offer you my condolences on the sad death of your brother. Is it Jack, or Quincy who died?"

The man considers this quietly for a moment, and replies: "Ah, I see! You're obviously surprised that I buy only two drinks now. Well, my two brothers are alive and well, thank you - it's just that I myself have given up drinking!"

George W Bush said to the Queen, "Your Majesty, how do you run such an efficient government? Are there any tips you can let me have?"

"Well, Mr Bush," said the Queen, "The most important thing is to surround yourself with really intelligent people."

Bush frowned, and then asked, "But how do I know which of the people around me are really intelligent?"

The Queen took a sip of her Bollinger champagne. "That's easy; one merely asks them to answer an intelligent little riddle. Watch this..."

The Queen pressed a button on her intercom and said. "Please send Tony Blair in."

Tony Blair walked into the room and said, "Yes, Your Majesty?"

The Queen smiled and replied, "Answer me this please, Mr Blair. Your mother and father have a child. It's not your brother and it's not your sister. Who is it?"

Without pausing for a moment, Blair answered: "That would be me."

"Yes! Very good, Mr Blair." smiled the Queen.

Bush went back home to ask Dick Cheney the same question. "Dick, answer this for me. Your mother and father have a child. It's not your brother and it's not your sister. Who is it?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that," said an embarrassed Cheney. "Let me get back to you later, okay?" He went to his advisers and asked everyone, but none could give an answer. Frustrated, he went for a workout in the congressional gym, where he bumped into John Kerry.

Cheney went over to him and asked, "Hey John, see if you can answer this question for me. Your mother and father have a child and it's not your brother or your sister. Who is it?"

Kerry answered, "Hell, that's easy: it's me of course!"

Cheney beamed, and said, "Excellent! That's a really good answer!" He then went back to see President Bush. Babbling with excitement, he said: "Mr Bush, I did some research and I've got the answer to that riddle. It's John Kerry!"

Bush got up, stomped over to Cheney, and angrily yelled into his face, "NO, you moron! It's Tony Blair!"


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

907

Send in the Clowns

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air..
Where are the clowns?

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move...
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours.
Making my entrance again with my usual flair
Sure of my lines...
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want...
Sorry, my dear!
And where are the clowns
Send in the clowns
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career.
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns...
Well, maybe next year.

Stephen Sondheim

Draw The Cartoons

Charlie Hebdo
We mourn your loss.
Pens are mightier than the swords.
Charbonnier
Drew the cartoons

'I'm not afraid
Of retaliation
I'd rather die standing
Than live on my knees.'
Draw the cartoons
Keep penning cartoons.

Yes, we love truth,
Yet we want fun.
Entertainment
Has enemies with a gun.
We should limit this nonsense
They will need cheering up.
Charlie Hebdo
Keep penning cartoons.

Why, why, why, why?
Mohammed is game.
Egg them on with wit,
Please draw cartoons.
We need cartoons -
Only funny,
Pithy, worthy.

An eye for an eye
(In Maori it's 'utu')
Quixotic tilting at windmills.
Nurture seventeen.
Who will draw the cartoons?
There should be cartoons...
Yes, they're essential!

Snafu I'll Jot


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

906

From The British Soldier by Rudyard Kipling:

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

War Drill by Dharam

If you're hopelessly injured, in anguish and pain,
Legs taken off in rugged mountainous terrain,
Mind well-bred to stay stalwart, not kowtow or complain,
But, would you choose to try death before dishonour?


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

907

JE SUIS CHARLIE by Tom Higgins

Paris, France,
The macabre dance
Of death is performed
By three men.
Each dancing
To the tune
Of their master,
The great tutor
The choreographer
Of supreme misery
The teacher of
The obscene dream.
The blind visionary,
Leading his troupe
Onwards to the edge,
And their inevitable
And eternal return
To oblivion.

JE SUIS CHARB by the Editor

Each man a satirical caricaturist,
The French communist.
No regrets here,
The rebel, the bragger.
The threatened,
The grey renegade.
A deranged hero
Nevertheless the hope.
I am not afraid
Of reprisals,
I have no children,
No wife, no car,
No debt.
It might sound
A bit pompous,
But I'd prefer to die
On my feet than
To live on my ...


[an error occurred while processing this directive]

908

POKING WITH STICKS (A POEM FOR CHARLIE HEBDO)
by Justin Barisich

As I read of your deaths
oceans apart
I haven't poked the sleeping
giant in ages.
I've treaded softly
but have forgotten
the function
of the big stick:

not to steady the walk
but to shove others off theirs,
to knock their knees
out from under,
to steal the breaths
of their lungs
as their skin slaps
against hard ground.

The offended's rules will never apply to us.
We're here to push envelopes, not paper.
With every smile we crack
they crack
we make them crack
and the world releases
tension like knuckles -
loud, unrestrained, uncomfortable
in its pop and chemical pleasure.

Ours is a land without law,
and so our sticks must serve
a second purpose:
defend, parry, attack
like martial
arts like water
like rivers running
like oceans pooling
like tears falling.

May they be not of sadness,
but of joy,
for anything too true to be good.

PENSTROKES TO GUNSHOTS

To test known
Outspokenness,
Yes, we provoke
Said and Chérif Kouachi
to kill the softest footsteps --
Elsa Cayat
who wrote 'Le Divan';

Kill officer Franck Brinsolaro
Guarding editor of freedom et liberté
Stony Stéphane Charbonnier;
Typeset proofreader
Mustapha Ourrad.

Said and Chérif Kouachi
kill Université professor
Bernard Maris;
Maintenance worker
Frédéric Boisseau.

Kill Bernard Verlhac
a.k.a. Tignous;
Georges Wolinski
who loved that gypsy-past:
life, alcohol, women;

Said and Chérif Kouachi
kill the unlucky guest,
Vet journalist
Michel Renaud
Visiting Hara-Kiri founder
Jean 'Le Grand Duduche' Cabut;

Kill Philippe Honoré
Who got
Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi
To fluently spout
'Happy New Year.'

No costs to settle.
Spent on TV.

Ten steps taken,
Yes, to the streets,
They even attack
Muslim officer
Ahmed Merabet.

The strongest,
The weakest
See the setting sun.