Idaho Insults


When you deface a memorial to a murdered 15-year-old, you have to be pretty rank.


Especially when the 15-year-old is the murdered Anne Frank.


Some feral anti-Semites and racists took out their permanent markers and showed their Trump side to the citizens of Boise when they defaced the marble at the Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial, a now-sacred site for contemplation and mourning. Not only will it cost a fortune to replace the marble, but they have spit on the memory of every person murdered due to hate.


Bad enough that we have Russian cameras in the Oval Office. We have white supremacists, bigots, and racists supporting the man who put them there. Even when Trump resigns or is impeached, these haters aren’t going anywhere. Not even the dank, dismal caves they lurk in.

Read more here:


Seventy years ago and two days, Anne Frank and her family and their friends were arrested while hiding in the secret annex on Prinsengracht in Amsterdam. They were betrayed and eventually shipped off to concentration camps, where Anne died of typhus one month before the war ended. Only her father, Otto, survived.

This is Anne’s last diary entry, written on August 1, 1944.

She was 14 when she wrote it.

That such a compassionate and amazing child was snuffed out along with so many other millions, in such a grotesque way, is one of the world’s enduring tragedies.

And if you compare the sheer brilliance and wisdom of Anne with the self-absorbed, shallow, and ignorant role models of her own age that we are forced to endure today, it’s even more heartbreaking.

I often say, “Read this and weep”—but this time, weeping is appropriate.

Dearest Kitty,

“A bundle of contradictions” was the end of my previous letter and is the beginning of this one. Can you please tell me exactly what “a bundle of contradictions” is? What does “contradiction” mean? Like so many words, it can be interpreted in two ways: a contradiction imposed from without and one imposed from within.

The former means not accepting other people’s opinions, always knowing best, having the last word; in short, all those unpleasant traits for which I’m known. The latter, for which I’m not known, is my own secret.

As I’ve told you many times, I’m split in two. One side contains my exuberant cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my ability to appreciate the lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a kiss, an embrace, an off-colour joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper and finer. No one knows Anne’s better side, and that’s why most people can’t stand me.

Oh, I can be an amusing clown for an afternoon, but after that everyone’s had enough of me to last a month. Actually, I’m what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker – a mere diversion, a comic interlude, something that is soon forgotten: not bad, but not particularly good either.

I hate having to tell you this, but why shouldn’t I admit it when I know it’s true? My lighter, more superficial side will always steal a march on the deeper side and therefore always win. You can’t imagine how often I’ve tried to push away this Anne, which is only half of what is known as Anne-to beat her down, hide her. But it doesn’t work, and I know why.

I’m afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side, a better and finer side. I’m afraid they’ll mock me, think I’m ridiculous and sentimental and not take me seriously. I’m used to not being taken seriously, but only the “light-hearted” Anne is used to it and can put up with it; the “deeper” Anne is too weak. If I force the good Anne into the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts up like a clam the moment she’s called upon to speak, and lets Anne number one do the talking. Before I realize it, she’s disappeared.

So the nice Anne is never seen in company. She’s never made a single appearance, though she almost always takes the stage when I’m alone. I know exactly how I’d like to be, how I am… on the inside. But unfortunately I’m only like that with myself. And perhaps that’s why-no, I’m sure that’s the reason why I think of myself as happy on the inside and other people think I’m happy on the outside. I’m guided by the pure Anne within, but on the outside I’m nothing but a frolicsome little goat tugging at its tether.

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy.

A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank



Can Anne Frank rest in peace? Apparently not.

First Justin Bieber clowns around in her hiding place in Amsterdam and signs the visitors’ book hoping she would have been a Belieber. Um, not. (I already wrote about this pea brain).

And now, the mother of a seventh grader in Michigan is claiming that unedited version of The Diary of Anne Frank is too graphic for the tender sensibilities of her daughter and her classmates, weaned as they are on a steady diet of YouTube twerking, sexting, and smut. 

“It’s pretty graphic, and it’s pretty pornographic for seventh-grade boys and girls to be reading,” Gail Horalek told reporters at Detroit-based Fox 2. “It’s inappropriate for a teacher to be giving this material out to the kids when it’s really the parents’ job to give the students this information.”

The passage in question Anne writing simply about the anatomy of her genitals. It is about as pornographic as a wave hitting the sand.

Guess who’s got a dirty mind, reading sexual content into pure anatomical description?

And if anything is pornographic about Anne Frank, her family, and everyone else murdered by the Nazis, it’s what was done to her.

I thought about that yesterday when I posted the RIP for Deanna Durbin, so beloved by Anne that Deanna’s photo was put up on the wall.

Gail needs to get over it.


While on the topic of idiotic and offensive references to the suffering of the Jews in the Holocaust, enter one young man still 31 years away from Lurching, but whose comment about this woman, who would have been nearly 84 had she not be exterminated in a concentration camp, are so patently stupid that I just can’t let them slide.

In other words, Justin Bieber, on tour in Europe where he is singing for his supper when he’s not running around threatening the paparazzi and pulling up his pants, paid a visit to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. As millions have done before him, he signed the guest book.

“Truly inspiring to be able to come here,” he wrote. “Anne was a great girl. Hopefully she would have been a belieber.”

Okay, so you have to cut JB some slack because we already knew he is a 19-year-old spoiled, rich, egomaniacal object of affection for hordes of young girls crushing on puppy love.

But on the other hand, why should we cut anyone any slack for such unbelievable hubris?

Honestly, Anne Frank had better things to do with her time than moon over dopey cute boys with good hair. I sincerely doubt she would have been a belieber. Gee, I dunno, maybe the Nazis had something to do with that. Or maybe her smarts, good taste, selflessness, and spirit would have too.

She would have seen JB for what he is: A bratty little putz.

Or maybe she would have seen right through JB’s monumental ego. Signing a book that is an homage to one of the most courageous teens who ever lived and making it all about him is what rankles.

Over to you, Canada. He’s all yours!


What is it with the Mormons? Bad enough they think they have the right go send missionaries all over the world to try to convince those who are happily minding their own business and believing what they want to believe that they are somehow superior (and I feel this way about ALL missionaries, mind you) and have shown a flagrant, hateful homophobia, but now it has been disclosed that they have this unbelievably creepy program of posthumous baptisms.

So please explain to me why they feel they have a right to do this? And if so, how Simon Wiesenthal’s parents got on the baptism list? What possible link to Mormon ancestry could they have?

Worse, it was just disclosed that they have Anne Frank on their list too: Not just once, but ten times!!! See:

Yes, the Jewish Anne Frank who died as a teenager, had no children, had no Mormon ancestors, and was murdered by the Nazis because she was a JEW.

Being a girl of insatiable curiosity about the world, Anne may have read about Mormons and the origins of their faith in a school book. But I sincerely doubt that even if this happened, she gave them more than a fleeting thought. Frankly, she had a lot more important things to worry about—like trying to survive a war when surrounded by people who hated her and wanted her dead solely because of her NON-MORMON religion.

Too bad Mitt wasn’t asked about this at the debate.

Keep it in the family, thanks