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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The BBC's list of the one-hundred greatest Britons:

1: Sir Winston Churchill
2: Isambard Kingdom Brunel
3: Diana, Princess of Wales
4: Charles Darwin
5: William Shakespeare
6: Sir Isaac Newton
7: Elizabeth I
8: John Lennon
9: Horatio Nelson
10: Oliver Cromwell
11: Sir Ernest Shackleton
12: Captain James Cook
13: Robert Baden-Powell
14: Alfred the Great
15: Arthur Wellesley
16: Margaret Thatcher
17: Michael Crawford
18: Queen Victoria
19: Sir Paul McCartney
20: Sir Alexander Fleming
21: Alan Turing
22: Michael Faraday
23: Owain Glyndwr
24: Elizabeth II
25: Stephen Hawking
26: William Tyndale
27: Emmeline Pankhurst
28: William Wilberforce
29: David Bowie
30: Guy Fawkes
31: Leonard Cheshire
32: Eric Morecambe
33: David Beckham
34: Thomas Paine
35: Boudica
36: Sir Steve Redgrave
37: Sir Thomas More
38: William Blake
39: John Harrison
40: Henry VIII
41: Charles Dickens
42: Sir Frank Whittle
43: John Peel
44: John Logie Baird
45: Aneurin Bevan
46: Boy George
47: Sir Douglas Bader
48: Sir William Wallace
49: Sir Francis Drake
50: John Wesley
51: King Arthur
52: Florence Nightingale
53: Thomas Edward Lawrence
54: Robert Falcon Scott
55: Enoch Powell
56: Sir Cliff Richard
57: Alexander Graham Bell
58: Freddie Mercury
59: Dame Julie Andrews
60: Sir Edward Elgar
61: Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother
62: George Harrison
63: Sir David Attenborough
64: James Connolly
65: George Stephenson
66: Sir Charlie Chaplin
67: Tony Blair
68: William Caxton
69: Bobby Moore
70: Jane Austen
71: William Booth
72: Henry V
73: Aleister Crowley
74: Robert the Bruce
75: Bob Geldof
76: The Unknown Warrior
77: Robbie Williams
78: Edward Jenner
79: David Lloyd George
80: Charles Babbage
81: Geoffrey Chaucer
82: Richard III
83: J. K. Rowling
84: James Watt
85: Sir Richard Branson
86: Bono
87: Johnny Rotten (Lydon)
88: Bernard Law Montgomery
89: Donald Campbell
90: Henry II
91: James Clerk Maxwell
92: J. R. R. Tolkien
93: Sir Walter Raleigh
94: Edward I
95: Sir Barnes Wallis
96: Richard Burton
97: Tony Benn
98: David Livingstone
99: Sir Tim Berners-Lee
100: Marie Stopes

1: A major leader - "Jaw-jaw, not war-war!".
2: Bridge builder.
3: 'Wham!' fan.
4: Evolution chronicler.
5: Bard.
6: Gravity discoverer.
7: Red-headed England queen.
8: Jaded scouse wag.
9: On a London column.
10: Disliked in Ireland.
11: Antarctic explorer.
12: Renowned seafarer.
13: Scout leader.
14: Cake burner.
15: He invented waterproof boots.
16: Harsh, horrible milk-snatcher...she fell.
17: "Ooh, Betty!"
18: HRH Mrs Brown.
19: Jolly-amazing electric bassman.
20: Penicillin.
21: Numerate gay.
22: Magnetic brilliance!
23: Major Welsh rebel.
24: Her Majesty, ER.
25: Regarded physicist.
26: Bible translator.
27: Redefined wimmin's rights.
28: Anti-slavery.
29: Jean Genie.
30: Westminster fireworks.
31: War aviator.
32: Eric Bartholomew, comedian.
33: Some shrill former singer's low-I.Q. husband.
34: Age Of Reason.
35: Farewell, Romans!
36: Rower.
37: Utopian.
38: Jerusalem.
39: Clockmaker.
40: King.
41: Writer.
42: Jet engine.
43: D.J.
44: Telly.
45: Welsh NHS enabler.
46: Karma Chameleon.
47: Legless hero, Second World War prisoner.
48: Highland warrior, Braveheart...hanged, drawn, quartered.
49: Hello, sailor!
50: Methodist.
51: Round Table monarch.
52: Nurse.
53: He wandered Arabia.
54: South Pole.
55: 'Rivers of Blood' racial hell.
56: Shadowy bachelor boy.
57: Phone maker.
58: Majestic singer.
59: Sound of drab music.
60: Classical Enigma Variations.
61: Gin-guzzling granny.
62: Hare Krishna Beatle.
63: Life On Earth.
64: Marxist.
65: Rocket.
66: In a bowler hat.
67: Diabolical war criminal, liar. Jail him!
68: Printer.
69: West Ham hero.
70: Writer.
71: "Sally Army" benevolence.
72: King.
73: Occult scholar.
74: Baffling wordy jock.
75: Dishevelled rambling Irish gobshite.
76: Who is he?
77: Take That wally.
78: Smallpox.
79: Liberal.
80: Difference Engine.
81: Canterbury Tales.
82: King.
83: Harry Potter lady.
84: Steam engine.
85: Shrewd, beardy billionaire.
86: Paul Hewson, pontificating Irish bore.
87: Sex Pistol.
88: Alamein.
89: Bluebird.
90: King.
91: Radiation.
92: Hobbit writer.
93: Invented the bicycle.
94: King.
95: Bomb-bouncer.
96: Warm, rich Welsh voice.
97: Radical lefty.
98: Nile.
99: His brainchild: World Wide Web.
100: Jenny clinic.

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Le Corbeau et le Renard
(Jean de La Fontaine)

Maître Corbeau, sur un arbre perché,
Tenait en son bec un fromage.
Maître Renard, par l'odeur alléché,
Lui tint à peu près ce langage :
"Hé ! bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau.
Que vous etes joli ! que vous me semblez beau !
Sans mentir, si votre ramage
Se rapporte à votre plumage,
Vous êtes le Phénix des hôtes de ces bois."
A ces mots le Corbeau ne se sent pas de joie ;
Et pour montrer sa belle voix,
Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie.
Le Renard s'en saisit, et dit : "Mon bon Monsieur,
Apprenez que tout flatteur
Vit aux dépens de celui qui l'écoute :
Cette leçon vaut bien un fromage, sans doute. "
Le Corbeau, honteux et confus,
Jura, mais un peu tard, qu'on ne l'y prendrait plus.

Master Raven sat on a tree
Biting a morsel of brie.

A surreptitious Fox,
Enticed by an irrepressible odour,
Coaxes, unscrupulous:

"Salutations noble esquire,
Voluptuous pompadour plumage,
Statuesque appearance so Agile;
A veritable emperor phoenix!
Sing an elegant tune,
Be a sublime crooner, unique Raven
Reveal one satin baritone voice!”

Enticed, Raven ejects precious cheese
Out upon auburn flatterer
And ejaculates an eerie, queer, tortuous screech.

The ravenous (pun not intended!) fox
Embezzles and gobbles food,
Mutters "Amen!"

"Remember unpleasant animal,"
he jeered,
"Untrue cajolements
Loot credulous imbecile dupes evermore.

"Gee, I erred,"
Ululated the jested squab,
"Mea culpa!"

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The Dog by Ogden Nash

The truth I do not stretch or shove
When I state that the dog is full of love.

I've also found, by actual test,
A wet dog is the lovingest.

Dog nose voodoo:

Send fast to vital velvet trews,
That ditchful got in shaggy hair.
Let it not get on blue suede shoes,
That which they felt bound to share.

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John Milton Hayes

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.


Anna Trew was forty-seven with a quite extensive girth,
And each night she'd trawl the net to find a date,
But because she was so bothered about other's looks and birth,
She had not yet come to find a perfect mate.

The photo that she posted on the screen was not her own,
And she fibbed about her age by many years,
She lied that she was blonde and that she was twenty-one
And her vibrant breasts could bring a man to tears.

One day when she was trawling, questing for the perfect match,
She found a hunk called Trent who came from Peckham,
From his topless photo, whew! he looked like the perfect catch!
And to crown it all, he grinned like David Beckham.

She started up an online chat to get to know Trent more,
They hit it off like they'd been friends for years,
He said he loved her photo and he'd really like to meet,
That's when her lovelorn heart welled up with tears.

How could she meet that handsome gent,
that toned and trendy god,
When she was, well, a dumpy Susan Boyle?
In truth they were no match at all, nor 'two peas in a pod',
He'd see her and then straight away recoil.

Yet part of her would not let go, although she felt she should,
The need to meet Trent overrode her doubt.
Her head was in a tizzy as she told Trent that she would,
They made a date for Friday to go out.

Trent told her that he'd pick her up, he'd be there in a Jag,
And ring once on her bell at half-past eight.
As she logged off from the web, Anna sighed and lit a fag,
And wryly cursed her age and size and weight.

Oh hell, oh hell, what would she do? Her head was in a whirl;
Today was Wednesday, that left two more days.
Well, she'd get her hair dyed blonde, with some pretty, wavy curls,
And do her best to hide the weight some way.

But when Friday came she told herself, 'I can't go through with this,
'The whole thing's just a whopping great big con,
When he calls I'll say 'my daughter' was his online-chatting Miss,
But she's working late and I am Nell, her Mom.'

Half-eight that night the doorbell rang, her heart beat like a drum.
A man her age and weight stood there and said,
"I called to say that my son Trent's not well and cannot come,
"Wow, but you seem nice, shall we go out instead?"

She saw an old three-wheeler car, there in the road outside,
The weight fell off her shoulders like a cloak,
Well what a joke, he was like her, for he himself had lied!
"Hell, let's go!" she cried, "Hang on, I'll get my coat."

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by Shel Silverstein

I asked for a hot dog
With everything on it,
And that was my big mistake,
‘Cause it came with a parrot,
A bee in a bonnet,
A wristwatch, a wrench, and a rake.
It came with a goldfish,
A flag, and a fiddle,
A frog, and a front porch swing,
And a mouse in a mask —
That’s the last time I ask
For a hot dog with everything.


Whiffing preservatives;
Gorging on nitrate.
I'd paddywhack this bummer.
Favorite habit somewhat:
Watching a fat kid's weight.
We eat seven billion a summer!
What a die-hard tradition,
He has damage anyway!
Don't ask if it's healthy.
"Afraid to get colorectal cancer?"
That's a frank answer,
So abstaining is the key!

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This is a heads up to those friends who haven't experienced it yet, and an explanation to those friends and family who have. Most of you have read the scare-mail about the person whose kidneys were stolen while passed out. Well, my friends, do take time and trouble to read on. While the kidney story was an urban legend, this one is not. It is happening here and now, every single day. Please believe me.

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs which had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the entire summer desperately looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt, unhappy and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in baggy jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.

Then, just when my guard was down, those thieves struck again. My butt was next. I know it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than my original) to the thighs they stuck me with earlier. Now, my rear end complimented my legs, chunky lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed. It was crucial that long, maxi skirts would stay in fashion.

It was roughly two years ago when I first came to realize that my poor arms had been switched. ~

One morning, fixing my hair, I watched with horror as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the brush. Huh? Why, a mighty washerwoman! This was really getting scary. My body was being exhaustively replaced, one section at a time. How clever and fiendish. Highwaymen. Unnerving.

Last year, I thought someone had stolen my breasts. Lying in bed, they were gone! Oh Jeez! As I got out of bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding in my armpits. Hallelujah! Now I keep them in my waistband. Awkward.

Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to creep up, unnoticed, like maturity. NO, I was being attacked relentlessly and without warning. The sharks. What would they do to me next?

My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the turkey it now resembled. That is why I decided to tell my story. I
can't take on the wayward medical profession single-handedly. Harsh men. Ungentlemanly men.

Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee. That really isn't plastic that those surgeons are using, you see. You KNOW where they are getting those unnatural replacement parts, don't you? Whenever you suspect someone has had a face 'lifted', look again. Was it lifted from you? I think I found my thighs...and I hope that the shameless, nameless celeb (whore!) paid an extravagant price for them.

It's not a hoax. It's sheer lawlessness, shamelessness, happening to we women everywhere, every night. WARN FRIENDS.