Richard Grantham

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > Richard Grantham

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

The story, made infamous by Michael Moore's film "Fahrenheit 9/11", that George W. Bush remained glued to on the morning of September 11.

the pet goat

a girl got a pet goat. she liked to go running with her pet goat. she played with her goat in her house. she played with the goat in her yard.

but the goat did some things that made the girl's dad mad. the goat ate things. he ate cans and he ate canes. he ate pans and he ate panes. he even ate capes and caps.

one day her dad said, "that goat must go. he eats too many things."

the girl said, "dad, if you let the goat stay with us, i will see that he stops eating all those things."

her dad said, "we will try it."

so the goat stayed and the girl made him stop eating cans and canes and caps and capes.

but one day a car robber came to the girl's house. he saw a big red car near the house and said, "i will steal that car."

he ran to the car and started to open the door.

the girl and the goat were playing in the back yard. they did not see the car robber.

more to come




the goat stops the robber

a girl had a pet goat. her dad had a red car.

a car robber was going to steal her dad's car. the girl and her goat were playing in the back yard.

just then the goat stopped playing. he saw the robber. he bent his head down and started to run for the robber. the robber was bending over the seat of the car. the goat hit him with his sharp horns. the car robber went flying.

the girl's dad ran out of the house. he grabbed the robber. "you were trying to steal my car," he yelled.

the girl said, "but my goat stopped him."

"yes," her dad said. "that goat saved my car."

the car robber said, "something hit me when i was trying to steal that car."

the girl said, "my goat hit you."

the girl hugged the goat. her dad said, "that goat can stay with us. and he can eat all the cans and canes and caps and capes he wants."

the girl smiled. her goat smiled. her dad smiled. but the car robber did not smile. he said, "i am sore."

the end

the pet that i want
by george b.

hi there, i am called george! i like birthdays, christmas, candies, the seaside, my daddy, playing soldiers, the ranch, free trade agreements, god, the preacher at church, and earning heaps and heaps of cash! i hate heathens, dictators, hostile nations, librarians, gay marriage, words that are hard to read, and canada and other geography.

when i get bigger i want to get a big bad dog, perhaps a pit bull terrier or a german shepherd. i'd pop him in the garage and throw him live rabbits budgerigars beagles cats toads and badgers that he can grab and eat! that'd be so great to watch! i'd laugh and laugh.

at the moment i have got some littler dogs, a cat and two daughters. the cat and the daughters are rather boring, but the best one is the poodle. the poodle is called tony. he's always happily trotting along behind me, and he does anything i say. he is the best!

he is pretty bright, too. each time i read the speeches that daddy's friends hand me, tony always yaps along, trying to read them too! he sounds just like me when he does that.

but i'd rather get another dog that's a whole lot bigger, though, with lots of teeth! i'd call the dog darth vader, as darth is a cool name! (i watched 'star wars' at a theater, and it was so great! i wish it could really happen some day.)

anyhow, i'd teach darth to chase and catch beggars, hippies and a-rabs and other scum, and chew them to death with his sharp teeth. he'd be a lot better than tony - sure, he can get pretty fierce too but he's too short to reach the throat.

so i want a big bad dog real soon! i begged daddy real hard but he says "not until you get better grades, george, or at least attain a second term as the president." then he hands my leash to mister cheney and we go walkies.

the end

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The sonnet in Shakespeare's series that had the misfortune to be number 69.

Sonnet #69

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view,
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned,
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own,
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds,
Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind)
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.

Now honestly. How on earth shall I ever get through this wretched 69th sonnet, with those dubious references to "tongues" throughout? (Not to mention "parts of thee", for that matter.) Downright thoughtless of Shakespeare to do that - shame on the bastard. Now I'm doomed to thrash out an uncouth, filthy rhyme filled with dodgy phrases that evoke undressed young ladies, naughty bits, handcuffs and such - that's something which I do not want to have to do, to be honest.

So stuff that idea. Instead, I am going to hatch a lovely rhyme which utterly eschews smut, so there.

See the bunny in the hutch,
He is very sweet.
Hear the birdy in the tree,
Tweety tweety tweet.

Thank you.

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A quip by Magnus Pyke.

If it squirms, it's biology
If it stinks, it's chemistry
If it doesn't work, it's physics
And if you can't understand it, it's mathematics.

If it's wordy, it's English
If it's knotty, it's economics
If it squeaks, it's music
And if it's run by the Antichrist, dammit, it's sport day.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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