Alright, Mark, I’ve taken a personal inventory  and  I, me, Swamp  Frank, feel  that we’ve  gotten  off on the wrong foot. I’ve come to realize that all the things wrong with you are from too much city life and that it’s the city that made you so pushy and plain irritable. Now,  Mark, I feel  strongly that  it  is in  your best  interest,  Mark, for you to go  into the swamp.  Mark,  I'm  not  forcing you  but,  Mark,   I would very much suggest it and that things will fall into place from there. Mark, would you please just get in the swamp right now, please, Mark!

It’s not the swamp, or the guest swamp, Mark, it’s you. And so now I’ll need to go away forever.  I’ll find a new swamp, a god-fearing swamp, and spread my wisdom to the children wherever I go, like Johnny Appleseed, but, of course, I’ll still be me, Swamp Frank, as I don’t much care for apples, which,  I presume, you  do,  but, rather, I, Swamp Frank, am interested in the swamp.  And, at night,  when I look up at the stars, I will think of the swamp, and not you.

Dear Mark, I’m finding these wild, roaming swamps wanting. If you had asked while I was still in my home, the swamp, if there was such a thing as a bad   swamp, I  would have pointed  at the swamp, my swamp, and given you such a look as to suggest that no. However,  now in  exile from  my swamp, and in another swamp altogether, if  asked, I  would give  such a look as to suggest that this swamp is, in fact, unsatisfactory. It may be the bees, or the disharmony between elements, or the lack of a hole with water,  but,  all  in  all,  again, unsatisfactory. Please do  not write back,  Mark,  and if you  see the Bride of Swamp Frank, ask her to send my things. Yours, Swamp Frank