"Cleetus Ferbderbler, Boy Improvisor, Returns from World Tour and Announces Retirement"

Dear Everyone in the World and Beyond,

  As you know, I sometimes tour for a certain well-known "comedy school": I am told the happy North Korean workers at the Peoples' Glorious Cement Factory #6 still chuckle (on their own time, of course), recalling my robot voice.
 
  I was delighted to hone my craft and preserve world peace at the same time.

 Last week, however, after our most recent tour, I went in for a "chat" with Ms. Klisterschmuck, the head of touring.

  "Ms. Klisterschmuck," I expolsulated, "I quit."

  "Now, Cleetus you idiot, you don't want to do that."

  "Ms. Klisterschmuck, I don't know if you know it, but my last name is Ferbderbler, a fine old name, not idiot..."

  "Touchy, touchy: You're probably jet-lagged from the tour."

  "Ms. Klisterschmuck,  we traveled to our last appearance in Damascus at the Displaced Persons' Camp # 472 by a vintage 1947 prop plane, not a jet.  Then we traveled by van to an Ebola hospital in the Congo---it took two weeks.  Our per diem was calculated in maize."

  "Cleetus, thousands of young improvisors would kill for these opportunities."

  "Ms. Klisterschmuck, I will miss the comraderie, the $65 a show, and the per diem calculated in the local currency..."

  "By the way, you still owe us from the North Korean debacle: How anyone can spend $600 a day in North Korea and not own the place is beyond the accounting department..."
 
  I raised my hands in a gesture universally signalling, "Enough!"
 
 "Enough!"  I said.  "I am moving to LOS ANGELES!"

  "Bon voyage; leave your forwarding address with accounting."

TO BE CONTINUED...