CHARLEMAGNE OF OKLAHOMA, LLC v. Darian McClellan & Sincerely Hogan

Let’s cut right to the chase: someone is about to get kicked out of their apartment over $1,003. That’s it. Not thousands. Not some epic crime spree involving flaming shopping carts or pet pythons in the HVAC system—just a little over a grand in unpaid rent and fees. But in the high-stakes world of Yukon, Oklahoma landlord-tenant drama, this is war. Welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the stakes are low, the tension is high, and someone definitely forgot to pay the rent.

On one side of this legal battlefield: CHARLEMAGNE OF OKLAHOMA, LLC—a name that sounds less like a property management company and more like a medieval empire that briefly conquered Tulsa. Represented by attorney Karen Barlow (who, let’s be honest, has probably seen this exact script play out at least 17 times this month), Charlemagne LLC owns a modest rental unit at 100 N. Briarwood, Unit 124, in Yukon. Despite the regal name, we’re not dealing with marble columns or throne rooms here—just a standard-issue apartment in Canadian County, where the biggest drama is usually whether the Whataburger has sweet tea.

On the other side: Darian McClellan and Sincerely Hogan. Yes, Sincerely Hogan—a name so poetic it sounds like it was pulled from a 1940s detective novel. (“A dame walked into my office. Her name was Sincerely. Sincerely Hogan. And she owed back rent.”) These two are the tenants, presumably living together or at least jointly on the lease, and now jointly in the hot seat. Were they late on rent because of hard times? A misunderstanding? A tragic miscommunication involving a Venmo request that vanished into the digital void? We don’t know—but we do know they didn’t pay, and now the eviction machine has been activated.

So here’s how the dominoes fell. On January 6, 2026—yes, this case is from the future, which either means we’ve cracked time travel or someone made a typo, but let’s roll with it—Charlemagne LLC personally served Darian and Sincerely with a notice. Pay up or pack up. The math was simple: $876 in past-due rent, plus $127 in unpaid fees. That’s $1,003. For context, that’s less than a monthly car payment on a used Subaru, or about 333 cups of overpriced oat milk lattes. It’s not nothing, but it’s not a king’s ransom either.

But Darian and Sincerely didn’t pay. They didn’t leave. They just… stayed. And so, on January 13—exactly one week later—Charlemagne LLC doubled down. They posted the notice (likely on the door, like a medieval edict) and sent it via certified mail, the legal equivalent of ringing the doorbell and then yelling through the mail slot, “WE’RE SERIOUS, THIS TIME!” Then, with the paperwork complete, they marched straight to the District Court of Canadian County, swore under oath, and filed this eviction request. Because in civil court, procedure is everything. You can’t just drag someone into the street by their socks—you’ve got to do it correctly.

Now, let’s talk about what’s actually happening here, legally speaking. The landlord isn’t suing for money—at least not in this filing. No demand for $1,003. No request for punitive damages. No wild accusation that the tenants turned the apartment into a meth lab or hosted a raccoon fight club. Nope. This is purely about possession. The landlord wants the court to say: “You, Darian and Sincerely, are no longer allowed to be here. Get out. The keys are not yours. The couch is not yours. Not even the weird stain on the carpet is yours anymore.” This is called injunctive relief—a fancy way of saying “make them stop being here.”

And honestly? The landlord may have a point. Rent is how landlords pay their mortgages, fix the water heater, and occasionally treat themselves to a stress-relief massage after dealing with tenants who pay in Monopoly money. If you don’t pay rent, the system breaks. But here’s where things get juicy: $1,003. That’s not a huge sum. It’s the kind of amount that could stem from a bounced check, a lost job, a medical bill, or even a simple “I thought it was due next week” misunderstanding. And yet, instead of working out a payment plan or giving a few extra days, Charlemagne LLC went straight to court. No negotiation. No grace period. Just: You’re out.

Is that harsh? Maybe. Is it legal? Absolutely. Oklahoma law allows landlords to begin eviction proceedings after just five days of nonpayment. So if Darian and Sincerely missed the deadline, and the notice was properly served (which, per the filing, it was—hand delivered and mailed), then the court is likely to side with the landlord. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a little cold. There’s no mention of hardship. No indication that the tenants tried to explain themselves. No attempt at mediation. Just a swift, corporate boot to the door.

Now, what do the tenants want? Well, we don’t know—because they haven’t filed anything yet. This is just the landlord’s side. For all we know, Darian and Sincerely could show up in court with a stack of medical bills, a termination letter, or a handwritten apology on notebook paper. Maybe they’ll argue the fees were unjust. Maybe they’ll say they paid but the landlord lost the check. Maybe Sincerely will deliver a monologue so moving it brings the judge to tears. But until they respond, the narrative belongs to Charlemagne LLC.

And what are they asking for? Again—not money. They want the court to issue an order for possession. That means, if the judge agrees, the sheriff could eventually show up, unlock the door, and remove their stuff if they don’t leave. It’s a big deal. Evictions follow you. They make it harder to rent elsewhere. They haunt your credit like a vengeful ghost. So while $1,003 might seem small, the consequences are massive.

So here’s our take: the most absurd thing about this case isn’t the amount. It’s the name. CHARLEMAGNE OF OKLAHOMA, LLC? Really? The guy who united most of Western Europe in the 8th century, crowned Emperor of the Romans, and basically invented the concept of medieval kingship—now shares a name with a Yukon apartment complex trying to evict someone over a water bill and three weeks of late rent? It’s like naming your taco truck “Leonidas Sparta Grill” and then refusing to give someone a free churro. The sheer audacity of naming a landlord entity after one of history’s greatest rulers… and then using it to fight over $127 in fees? That’s not just petty. That’s historically ironic.

We’re not saying Darian and Sincerely should get to live rent-free forever. But we are saying: maybe, just maybe, Charlemagne LLC could’ve picked up the phone. Maybe they could’ve said, “Hey, we see you’re behind. What’s going on?” Instead of going full imperial conquest mode. Because at the end of the day, this isn’t about justice. It’s about $1,003 and a name too grand for the situation. And honestly? We’re rooting for Sincerely. Because if you’ve got a name like that in a court case about unpaid rent, you deserve a happy ending. Even if it’s just an extra week to move out without the sheriff at the door.

This has been Crazy Civil Court. We’re entertainers, not lawyers. And we’ll see you in the next case—probably over a disputed parking space or a dog that won’t stop howling during Zoom calls.