King Louis Says Bye-bye - TLC 68

King Louis’s temp visa expired. Someone conspired. Who did it? Only the Shadow knows. And then, lo and behold, the tall handsome paranoid excommunicated hulk of a Roman ruin fled.

He gifted two native teachers a used bottle of stomach medicine, an empty pickle jar and a keening Irish green bottle of olive oil.

He carried eight bags of Roman history to his lover’s car. Ms. Linguist, his x-factor for what it was worth considering their short-term tumultuous erotic relationship headed for the auto-gar bus station. Next stop – Instant Bull.

On July 5th management called THE HULK into the office.

“We are not sending you to Moscow.”

He shriveled into his seat. Whoops, I really fucked up big time.

“Yes, you did,” said the Director. “You made life miserable for Bursa staff. Your archaic cavalier chauvinistic attitude was abysmal. In other words you were a colossal jerk.”

“I need to get this down now and make sense of it later,” said Zeynep scribbling a film noir treatment.

Louis thought he was smarter than the average bear. He was Yogi-Fide, denied, stratified, petrified and ossified.

“Anyway,” continued the Director of Barbarians, an obscure title minus power, “you won’t see Moose Cow with this company. There’s no way José we’d even consider sending you to a sister company in the frozen north with your attitude.”

“What’s going to happen to me? O my goodness gracious great balls of fire. Don’t tell me I have to return to the glorious land of unemployed free Mandingo slaves hawking refrigerators, microwaves and washing machines.”

“As you well know you’ve overstayed your tourist visa,” said big D. “This is a legal problem and we can’t help you there. You are in violation of residency laws and will leave today. You will not be allowed to return to Turkey for 3,000 years. We are giving you official notice that your contract with TLC is terminated effective immediately.”

“Great Scott. I had such grandiose plans for conquests and adventures roaming ruins, scaling Byzantium towers and feeding beggars Simit as freezing dawn broke bread while eating delicious black olives, freshly sliced tomatoes, winding my big time watch out and,” pausing for dramatic effect...“I need to get to the verb.”

“You’re fired.”

Charbroiled on searing heat. Skewered. King Louis was flame grilled and basted with spice is-land juice.

 The Language Company