Justin & Mindi Fitzer v. Ashton Stoner & Casey Calhoun

Let’s be honest: most people will do anything to avoid paying their landlord. But few go full performance art about it—refusing to vacate a property while racking up a $200,000 tab for court costs and service fees like they're starring in their own reality show called I’m Not Leaving Until the Judge Says So. That’s exactly what Ashton Stoner and Casey Calhoun are allegedly doing in Kinta, Oklahoma, a town so small it makes your GPS question its life choices. And now, Justin and Mindi Fitzer—two very done-with-this nonsense homeowners—are dragging them through the legal mud in a case that reads less like a civil dispute and more like a sitcom pilot written by someone who’s had one too many landlord-tenant fights at 2 a.m.

So who are these people? Justin and Mindi Fitzer appear to be regular folks living out the quiet Oklahoma dream—somewhere off a county road with more chickens than neighbors. Their address is listed as a rural route outside Kinta, population: “you know, about.” They own a house on West 4th Street in town, which they presumably rented out at some point to Ashton Stoner and Casey Calhoun, who, based on zero additional info, could be roommates, partners, business associates, or just two people who bonded over an intense shared love of not paying rent. The filing doesn’t say how long they lived there, why they stopped paying, or whether they’ve turned the place into a meth lab / underground fight club / artisanal pickle museum. But given the sheer audacity of the $200,000 demand, we’re leaning toward “something dramatic happened.”

Now, here’s where things get… creatively unhinged. According to the affidavit filed by Mindi Fitzer, the defendants are not only wrongfully occupying the property at 304 W 4th St, but they also owe $200,000 in court costs and service fees. Let that sink in. Two hundred thousand dollars. Not for rent. Not for property damage (though we’d believe it if they turned the living room into a racetrack for remote-controlled dinosaurs). No—this is allegedly what it’s cost the Fitzy family to get them out. Which raises so many questions. Is this number real? Is it symbolic? Did someone grab a calculator, punch in “annoying tenant,” and just start multiplying by lawyer rates until they got a satisfyingly large number? Because unless this case has involved private jet depositions, a team of forensic locksmiths, and a 17-judge appellate panel, $200,000 in costs for a standard eviction in Haskell County sounds about as plausible as a moose winning prom king.

Still, the Fitzers aren’t messing around. They’ve filed a Forcible Entry and Detainer action, which is Oklahoma’s fancy way of saying, “Get out, we mean it.” This type of case is usually fast-tracked—designed to resolve possession disputes quickly, not become a multi-year legal odyssey. But something about this situation suggests it’s not so simple. Either Stoner and Calhoun have been living there like squatters with a Netflix subscription and a strong sense of entitlement, or there’s a backstory involving broken leases, emotional damage, and possibly a goat named Steve. The filing doesn’t say. But the sheer size of the demand suggests this isn’t just about rent—it’s about principle. And possibly revenge.

Why are they in court? On paper, it’s straightforward: the Fitzers want their house back and they want the court to say, officially, that Stoner and Calhoun aren’t allowed to be there anymore. That’s the “possessory” part of the Forcible Entry and Detainer. But the $200,000 monetary claim? That’s… unusual. In most eviction cases, landlords sue for unpaid rent, maybe a few hundred or a few thousand bucks. Sometimes they tack on repair costs. But court costs? That’s not typically how this works. Court costs are usually nominal—filing fees, sheriff service charges, maybe a notary. We’re talking $100, not $200,000. So either someone made a typo and missed two decimal points… or this is a nuclear option. Maybe the Fitzers’ lawyer got very expensive. Maybe they’ve been to court 87 times trying to get these two out. Or maybe—just maybe—this number is less about actual invoices and more about sending a message: “You’ve cost us everything, and now we want it all back in one dramatic lump sum.”

And what do they want? Well, officially: possession of the property and $200,000 in costs. Is that a lot? In the context of a rural Oklahoma eviction? Yes. Yes, it is. For reference, the median home value in Haskell County is around $80,000. So they’re asking for more than two and a half times the average house price… in fees. Even if this were a high-rise penthouse dispute in Manhattan, that’d be steep. In Kinta, where the biggest news of the week is probably whether the post office got a new coffeemaker, it’s downright cartoonish. It’s the legal equivalent of suing someone for stealing your bicycle by demanding they compensate you for the emotional trauma, lost wages, therapy sessions, and the one time your dog cried after they left.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t the $200,000. It’s the specificity of it. $200,000 for court costs and service. Not “damages,” not “unpaid rent,” not “emotional distress from having to deal with your nonsense.” No—this is allegedly what the legal process itself has cost them. Which implies either: 1) The court system in Haskell County charges $50,000 per filing, 2) The sheriff had to serve papers via drone, helicopter, and interpretive dance, or 3) Someone really, really wants to make a point.

We’re rooting for clarity. We’re rooting for someone to stand up in that courthouse in Stigler and say, “Ma’am, with all due respect, are we sure it wasn’t $200?” Because if this number holds, we may have witnessed the most expensive eviction in the history of Oklahoma—possibly the entire Great Plains. And if Stoner and Calhoun stay put any longer, they might want to start charging the Fitzers rent for the emotional toll.

But seriously—someone get a camera crew out there. This isn’t just a civil case. This is content.