We here at the Frog receive all kinds of fan letters, complaints and the occasional Fedex’d toe.  Generally, we welcome all criticism, compliments and we’re sure we’ll find something to do with the 27 salted hams we received recently from Bart Williamson in Duluth.  (Thanks, Bart!)  Recently, though we received a complaint that we’d like to share with you.  We offer it now, without comment.

The Unedited Fan Letter

Dear I See The Frog,

My name is R. Everett Hastings.  I am writing because I have a complaint.  Like a single malt scotch, it is nuanced, and although it may burn a little, you will feel better after taking it in.

I came across your site while searching for a tree frog vendor.  As you know, tree frogs legs are a delicacy, best served at lunch with brioche and white Zin.  If you haven’t tried them, you should.  They taste a little like bark, at least their feet do.  They’re ridiculously expensive, but that’s of no concern, because I am extremely well compensated.   I work for a large, well known company in the Silicon Valley area.  I own several California homes and one of them is for my gray hawk, Voltaire.  I own a mountain, and I’m in escrow on a mountain range.

Last Thursday, my 24 year-old intern, who insists on wearing extremely tight clothing, discovered that my regular tree frog supplier, J. G. G. Garmond, was an anonymous investor in the Oscar-nominated film Sideways.  For this reason, I will no longer do business with the man.  That movie script trashed the reputation of Merlot, and suddenly Merlot sales plummeted across the country–ruining my upstart winery in Napa.  I walked dogs for six years in Eureka to make ends meet.  It was a dark time.

Aside from crushing my dream and destroying my life, the movie is actually quite good–it doesn’t have a superhero in it.  My 23 year-old intern raced home to watch it once she learned I said it was good.  She came running back to the office with a light sheen of sweat all over, then breathed hard in front of me for about five minutes, shoulders back, mouth slightly open and eyes wet with awe.

That’s when I directed my 22 year-old intern, who shows far too much cleavage and refuses to stop giving me shoulder massages from the front while I’m sitting down, to search online for more tree frogs and she sent me your link.  I spent the next several hours watching videos, reading blogs and listening to podcasts that you had recommended.  I got sucked in.  I bought real estate in WTF Town.  That’s a phrase I learned from my other 22 year-old intern, (yes, they’re twins) who begged me to tell her how she looked in a new pair of yoga pants from behind while she was wiggling into them.

My complaint is–I don’t have time to get sucked into the I See The Frog funnies and bits.  I’m trying to live my life offline, where I can eat delicious frogs legs and smear sturgeon caviar on kobe rib eye.  Where I can teach my 21 year-old intern, who forces me to rehearse intense, realistic, full contact love scenes with her because she wants to transition from modeling to acting, how I came from less than nothing to where I am today.

All that being said, I would like to remain on your list in case I ever do have a free moment from my satisfying work, my obscene salary and my five female interns all under the age of 25, all of whom fight for my attention on a daily basis.

Alas, Voltaire is tapping at my window with another mollusk in his beak, and the interns are tugging at mmmmklmklllll.///lmnnnnnnnn