#cat: SPECIAL
#desc:Includes exceptional, complex or unusual anagrams and those exceeding 1000 letters.<BR><BR><a href="/misc/special.html" target=_blank>Read the Special Category (in a new window)</a>
#gif:images/special.gif
#gram: Tony Crafter 
 There was a young lady named Gloria,
 Who was screwed by Sir Gerald Du Maurier,
 And then by ten men,
 Sir Gerald again,
 And the band at the Waldorf Astoria!
  =
  Sir Gerald, mad-eyed at their fun,
  Wades in armed with a dagger and gun;
  "Ye ragtime bastards!" he calls,
  "Draw away - or no balls."
  Now they're a band on the run.(Oi!)

#gram: David Bourke 
 PIANO MAN
  
 It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
 The regular crowd shuffles in
 There's an old man sitting next to me
 Making love to his tonic and gin
  
 He says, "Son can you play me a memory
 I'm not really sure how it goes
 But it's sad and it's sweet
 And I knew it complete
 When I wore a younger man's clothes"
  
 Sing us a song you're the piano man
 Sing us a song tonight
 Well we're all in the mood for a melody
 And you've got us feeling alright
  
 Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
 He gets me my drinks for free
 And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
 But there's someplace that he'd rather be
  
 He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me"
 As a smile ran away from his face
 "Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star
 If I could get out of this place"
  
 Sing us a song you're the piano man
 Sing us a song tonight
 Well we're all in the mood for a melody
 And you've got us feeling alright
  
 Now Paul is a real estate novelist
 Who never had time for a wife
 And he's talking with Davy who's still in the Navy
 And probably will be for life
  
 And the waitress is practicing politics
 As the businessmen slowly get stoned
 Yes they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
 But it's better than drinking alone
  
 Sing us a song you're the piano man
 Sing us a song tonight
 Well we're all in the mood for a melody
 And you've got us feeling alright
  
 It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
 And the manager gives me a smile
 'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see
 To forget about life for a while
  
 And the piano sounds like a carnival
 And the microphone smells like a beer
 And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
 And say "Man what are you doing here?"
  
 Sing us a song you're the piano man
 Sing us a song tonight
 Well we're all in the mood for a melody
 And you've got us feeling alright.
  
 =
 
  
 GUITAR MAN
  
 It's a dodgy Saturday night gig once again,
 Down in the Rose and Crown.
 All the same crowd coming in to get drunk,
 And hear the same lame Rock'n'Roll songs going down.
  
 One more time, the band shall set up in a corner,
 The pool table is moved-off to one side.
 The landlady often asks "Can't you turn them drums down?"
 Whining "loud music she can't at all abide"!
 
 Play us a Queen riff again, guitar man!
 Or how about 'Sweet Child O' Mine'? 
 Some Rolling Stones, Small Faces, Nirvana, Who,
 Some Joe Satriani or Steve Vai? Fine!
  
 Some skinny young girl slinks over, asks me "Will I play,
 Something gentler, how about Sting, or 'Cavatina'?".
 And I guess I would do, if she was prettier,
 But man! Oh, please! You should have seen her!
  
 I say, play us a song again, guitar man!
 'Foxy Lady'? Yes, that would be nice!
 "Something fast, Eddie van bloody Halen!"
 So I hit them with 'Eruption'. (Twice!).
 
 A five-minute stop for a new G-string, again,
 - The flash bassist thinks he *is* Stanley Clarke!
 The audience, they wake up eventually,
 So the keyboardist bores them with Bach.
 
 Go on, let's hear 'Smoke On The Water', guitar man!
 On your old Fender Strat yet again.
 'Alright Now' on your shining new Gibson Les Paul,
 And 'More Than Words', a little acoustic refrain.
 
 "Oi you! Clapton!", shouts some glassy-eyed bloke at the bar,
 "I feel like a slow twelve-bar blues!"
 "Hey Joe...", I say, lighting on yet another cigarette,
 "...'Stormy Monday'? 'Red House'? You choose".
 
 The (filling-in) drummer is minging, I'm afraid,
 - His personal hygiene leaves a little to be desired.
 The singer still feels he's God's gift to women,
 - One more groin thrust, and he'll get us all fired!
  
 "Do some Jimmy Page again, Mr Guitar Man",
 (See, we often finish on 'Stairway To Heaven').
 The punters finally go off, singing 'All The Way Home',
 (Like Spinal Tap - all the way up to eleven!).

#gram: Mey Kraus 
Below is Shakespeare's 2nd sonnet anagrammed into a paraphrase sonnet.
However, this isn't an ordinary anagram, as will be detailed beneath it.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held: 
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; 
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
(=)
A Time's bane rumples lines on thy weak brow
When master plowmen break in Beauty's soil;
Thy prime new blouse's bleak as raiment now -
Banal, unkempt; worn, seam-wise, by sheer toil.
"Is Beauty's rank the same now?", men will probe,
"Why are keen blasts but memories, now plain?"
Some answers will but make thy pain enrobe
The numb eye - soon, its amber spark will wane...
Muse on what tokens praise by men will bear
When smirk will note: "My babe, so neat as pure!
"Small kin's been worth my pious, beaten wear",
Yet thine own babe a mom's spark will ensure:
Near his new smiles, low ebb to peak may turn,
Whilst passion may let one weak ember burn.
As you might have noticed, the paraphrase is not an anagram of the subject text at all. 
Instead, its lines are 14 individual anagrams of the titular phrase:
"Sonnet Number Two by William Shakespeare".

#gram: Richard G 
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