"Why No, Mr. IRS Agent, My Landlord ISN'T Here."

So I was stuck at home for two days with the offspring due to all the ice we had everywhere. If you've never seen Okies drive on ice, picture elephants ice-skating. Anyway, I'm sitting in my home office yesterday when a truck pulls up in front of the house. Out comes a big black guy who looks like Refrigerator Perry and a middle-aged white lady. I thought, "Great, freakin' Jehovahs." For a moment I thought about not answering the door. Then I saw his briefcase and realized that Jehovahs don't carry briefcases.

They ring the doorbell and I answer it. Keep in mind, it's 19 degrees and the streets are covered with ice. Fridge says, "I'm Joe Friday with the Internal Revenue Service. I'm looking for Bob Taxfraud." I said, "Bob Taxfraud is my landlord. He moved to Virginia. You wanna come in, it's cold." I said that last bit 'cause I know better than to piss off the feds. Besides, they're not coming out in 19 degree weather to discuss old Bob's 1099. He's in deep sh*t. Everyone knows that if you owe them a couple of grand, they send you letters forever. They only pay you a visit if you're on your way to Club Fed.

Fridge and his side kick come in and he starts asking me questions like, "When did you move in? Do you have his phone number?" I didn't have his number but I did have his address which I gave him. Then I said, "I know you probably can't tell me but does this have anything to do with the house?" He said, "I can't discuss it." Me: "Oh. I just wanted to know if I'm going to be homeless for the holidays." The lady laughed but the Fridge didn't. He gave me his card and said to let him know if I got Bob's number.

Last night I sent Bob and email. Bob calls me, chitchats about the weather then proceeds to give me the lamest ass excuses I've ever heard. Excuse 1: "Maybe it was a joke." Uh, no Bob, the feds have no sense of humor. Excuse 2: "Maybe their after my former tenant. He never paid taxes." Uh, no Bob, they asked for YOU so I think you never paid taxes. He asked for Joe Friday's number and I gave it to him. Yeah, right, like he's going to call.

Anyway, first thing this morning I called Joe Friday and left him a message with my landlord's phone number. Then I shot an email about the visit to a colleague at the office who is a CPA as well as a lawyer. I said, "What does it mean when two revenue agents come looking for your landlord?" Her response, "It means it's time to move 'cause chances are he's committed fraud or something."

So, I've decided to start from scratch and move back to my old house that I actually still technically own. I hate moving. I hate Bob.