The Special Category

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An optional explanation about the anagram in green, the subject is in black, the anagram is in red.


(From The Wizard of Oz)

I could wile away the hours
Conferrin' with the flowers
Consultin' with the rain
And my head I'd be scratchin'
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'
If I only had a brain.

I'd unravel ev'ry riddle
For any individ'le
In trouble or in pain.
With the thoughts you'd be thinkin'
You could be another Lincoln,
If you only had a brain.

Oh I could tell you why
The ocean's near the shore,
I could think of things I never thunk before
And then I'd sit and think some more.

I would not be just a nuffin'
My head all full of stuffin'
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry
Life would be ding-a-derry
If I only had a brain.

When a man's an empty kettle he should be on his mettle,
And yet I'm torn apart.
Just because I'm presumin' that I could be kind-a-human,
If I only had heart.

I'd be tender - I'd be gentle and awful sentimental
Regarding Love and Art.
I'd be friends with the sparrows
And the boys who shoots the arrows
If I only had a heart.

Picture me - a balcony.
Above a voice sings low.
Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
I hear a beat... how sweet.

Just to register emotion, jealousy - devotion,
And really feel the part.
I could stay young and chipper
and I'd lock it with a zipper,
If I only had a heart.

The Donald

I could be another Lincoln
Or JFK or Clinton
For many years I'd reign.
I could be a fine orator
And a smoother operator
If I only had a brain.

Like the nerdy kid in college
I'd dazzle with my knowledge
Be funny, bright and sane
I'd be mindful and refined
And I'd never fluff a line
If I only had a brain

I'd favor health to wealth
Be faithful to the truth
And I'd not mourn in vain for my lost youth
I'd go to church, not be uncouth

I'd ensure that my decisions
Would never cause derision
My wild hair I would tame
I would curb each tweet and email
And not lust for nubile females
If I only had a brain.

When a man is horny and all
His feelings he can't handle
He has to act the part
I'd eliminate the bluster
Warm emotions I would muster
If I only had a heart.

Man, when you just drip with riches
You sure appeal to bitches
Who're money-making tarts,
Oh, but I'd reject the weird ones
Look forthwith for the sincere ones
If I only had a heart.

What a life, eh? A stunning wife
With her lovely clear blue eyes
What a trophy, what a prize
Is she bright? Who gives a shite!

How I'd love to be like cupid, and not just rather stupid
One wild, unruly fart
I'd not be an unshorn playboy
But a happy-every-day boy
If I only had a heart.


A wife was having an affair while her husband was at work. One day she was in bed with her lover when she suddenly heard the husband's car pull into the drive.

"Quick!" she shouted at the lover. "Grab your clothes and jump out the window. My husband has come home early!"

The man looked out the window in alarm and protested: "That's crazy! I can't possibly do that! It's raining hard and I'm stark naked!"

"I don't bloody care about that," screamed the woman hysterically; "If my husband finds you here, he'll skin us both alive!"

Still protesting, the lover reluctantly grabbed his clothes, scooted over to the bedroom window and leapt straight out...

He landed, unscathed, on the street below and to his amazement found himself in the middle of a bunch of marathon runners. Hoping to blend in with them, despite being naked, he started to jog along, carrying his clothes over one arm.

"Hello," greeted one of the other runners, "hey, no offence buddy, but d'you always run in the buff?"

Thinking on his feet, the lover replied breathlessly: "Oh, yes; I like to feel all that fresh air wafting against my skin when I jog."

"I see... but, do you usually run with clothes over your arm?" said the athlete.

"Oh yes, always," panted the lover. "That means I can get dressed after the race, hop into my car, and drive straight home without needing to have a shower first."

"Yes, I suppose that does make sense," the athlete said, "but do you always wear a condom when you run?"

ďOnly if itís raining.Ē

A wife had her lover in during the afternoons while her husband was out at work.

One day, her nine-year-old son was hiding up in the closet during one of his mum's romps while the unaware couple were entwined in eager passion. Suddenly, the woman heard her husband's car pulling into the drive, so she quickly hid the lover in the closet.

The little boy said, "It's dark in here."

The man whispered, "Yes, it is."

Boy - "I've got a baseball."

Man - "Er... that's nice."

Boy - "Wanna buy it?"

Man - "No, thanks."

Boy - "My dad's just outside."

Man - "I see... OK, how much?"

Boy - "Two-hundred-and-fifty dollars."

A few weeks later, it transpired that the boy and the lover found themselves in the closet again.

Boy - "It's dark in here."

Man - "Yes, it is."

Boy - "I've got a baseball glove."

Man - Recalling the last meeting the lover groaned, "How much?"

Boy - "Seven-hundred-and-fifty dollars."

Man - "Fine."

A few days later, the father said to the son, "Get your ball and glove, junior, we'll go outside and play baseball."

The boy replied, "I can't, I've sold them."

"Huh?" frowned the puzzled father. "Just how much did you sell them for?"

The son said, "A thousand dollars."

"What!?" the father raged, "That's awful; you mustn't overcharge your friends like that. It's much more than those items are worth. I am gonna take you to church and make you confess right now."

They went to the church and the father sent the boy into the confessional booth and closed the door.

The boy whispered, "It's dark in here."

The priest said: "Don't you start that crap again!"


God's plan made a hopeful beginning.
But man spoiled his chances by sinning.
We trust that the story
Will end in God's glory,
But at present the other side's winning.

Creep Donald Trump's a sore Tweet nit.
Holy Cow! Ghastly insane bugger's unfit!
Deranged nit, he's mad!
Hissing loon, he's bad!
Whining nit pongs in bent petty bullshit!


A wonderful bird is the pelican;
His beak can hold more than his belican.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week,
Though Iím damned if I know how the helican!

An anagram king called Crafter, as I know,
He is one uninhibited bloke who can crow!
Huh? He is one fab poet!
Chuffed, he did know it!
I'm behind him! He leads all! Ho ho ho!


An elderly guy called Keith,
Mislaid his set of false teeth.
They'd been laid on a chair,
He'd forgot they were there,
Sat down, and was bitten beneath.

The Donald's a fake story nit,
Who tweets belligerent shit!
Hey! He's a rage-horrible cad,
So tweet-demented and bad!
Yeah! A lie-filthy leech and unfit!


An elderly guy called Keith,
Mislaid his set of false teeth.
They'd been laid on a chair,
He'd forgot they were there,
Sat down, and was bitten beneath.

A Rolling Stone, Richards, one day,
"The Beatles?", he ranted, "Who they?
Bleeding skiffle I hate,
I detest the band, mate!"
He cursed "Will they not fade away?"


[Inspired by reading about The X Factor UK contestant Rebecca Ferguson turning down the opportunity to perform at Trump's inauguration and her open letter stating she would only attend if she would be allowed to perform the historic poem/song STRANGE FRUIT. The anagram is another poem/song titled BLACK LIVES MATTER with the acrostic constraint BILLIE HOLIDAY, the artist who first sang and recorded the Abel Meeropol piece in 1939.]


Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.


I unchained her stiff ankles tonight,
Leashed to worlds that are labeled white;
Lightened her bonds but not her skin,
I opened the golden zoo cages she's in.

Etched now on her front a big letter N,
Hell offers her off to fat corrupt men.
Out of Africa, but flogged into a gutter;
Lost strength, she whispers with a stutter.

Intense stranger gets caught to suffer;
Desperate serf, most barren, not tougher.
An oppressor resorts to a Fagin burn --
You heard her moan, it's both our turn.