On Monday, we learned that the IRS didn't single out tea party groups after all.

What?? Could this be true?? 

Instead, they were looking for political groups, including not just tea party groups, but progressive groups as well.

No way!

They may have used a flawed method for flagging the groups, but the IRS's intent was clear: to identify political groups that were not legally entitled to receive the tax-exempt benefit they sought to receive.

See? They were pure of thought...no fraud happening here.

That pretty much brought the IRS "scandal" to a screeching halt.

Damn! A juicy scandal would have perked everybody up after the holidays.

In the hours following the revelation, Darrell Issa's Twitter feed suddenly started spamming tweets about Benghazi.

If it’s Issa, it’s gotta be Benghazi. 

"Change the subject, quickly!" he seemed to be saying.

He was not! He was simply saying, how about a cold one after we blow this joint?

But there's still a question to be answered.

There is? Pray tell.

If the IRS was targeting political groups from across the ideological spectrum, where did the original narrative about tea party targeting come from?

Yeah!  Where? Do we have to have an independent investigation? 

The answer makes Darrell Issa and his fellow House Republicans look even worse than they did on Monday:

Worse? They look pretty bad...can they actually look worse?

The Treasury inspector general (IG) whose report helped drive the IRS targeting controversy says it limited its examination to conservative groups because of a request from House Republicans.

So, House Republicans asked the IRS to limit its examination and they did?

And reindeer fly?

A spokesman for Russell George, Treasury’s inspector general for tax administration, said they were asked by House Oversight Chairman Darrell Issa (R-Calif.) “to narrowly focus on Tea Party organizations.”

Oh gawd! Darrell again? The car thief? Are we supposed to take this guy seriously?

Obviously, if Issa wanted a comprehensive investigation, he should have asked for a review of all politically oriented scrutiny.

And why would he do that? Issa knew what he wanted, why confuse the issue with relevant facts?

Instead, he asked for exclusive focus on tea party and conservative groups.

Under the most charitable interpretation of this, it never occurred to Darrell Issa that anyone other than the tea party groups could have been targeted.

If that's true, it suggests he just doesn't care about whether the IRS "targets" anyone other than his political allies.

But I think the most likely explanation here is that Issa was simply trying to cook up a scandal, even though it did nothing to address the genuine problems with the way campaign finance and tax laws are written.

Badda-bing!

He probably figured that in the best case scenario, he'd be able to get away with his fraud.

He’s probably right...after all, that’s where his expertise is. 

And in the worst case scenario, he'd get a slap on the wrist from a few reporters, but endless approval from his political supporters.

And it’s the political supporters that matter.

It's exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from Mr. Grand Theft Auto.

Ouch! Do you hafta keep reminding us of that?

 I decided to post this for some light fun to start the new year. It is a true story of a vacation taken years ago. Seems I get funny when things are going terribly wrong.

   DotCalm Family
SUMMER EXTRAVAGANZA
July 1976

I outdid myself this time.

We were on our way to an exciting drive/sail/drive experience to Nova Scotia, Canada.

The sweet, trusting little girls and the ten pound poodle were in tow.

The hyperactive (on a good day), snotty dog was put in the hold with other pets for the sail, which seemed perfectly normal.

Beth: Look Mommy! The boat is going up and down and up and down and...

She then turned a gawd-awful shade of green.

We didn’t see Beth for the rest of the sail part of the Extravaganza.

Amy has sea legs...who knew.

Retrieved subdued dog and eagerly awaited the next part of the Extravaganza.

The lines to get into Canada were impossibly long.

All the toll booths were open and crowded with the very travelers from the cruise.

Daylight was fading.

It soon became dusk and it was raining.

The car windows were fogged. It was crappy.

Dawg breath filled the air.

We finally reach the booth for our turn to prove citizenship.

Presented passports. (Passports trump other proof of citizenship.)

It’s Canada, for crissake!

Hey Canada! It’s us! Your neighbors from the lower forty-eight!

Remember??

Finally cleared customs along with everyone else who was on the friggen boat.

Things began to normalize.

It was pitch black. The kind of black where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

We could hear water all around us as we traveled the dark, one-lane road.

I have to make a confession here.

I didn’t make reservations...It was Canada for crissake!

First motel. Rainy. No room at the inn. Second motel. Rainy. No room at the inn. Third motel. Rainy. No room at the inn.

Starting to become concerned.

Hey Joseph. What Mary?

Let’s ask if we could use their parking lot so we could catch a few winks.

Innkeeper takes pity.

We follow him through the darkness to a house where the family rents rooms to poor schleps like us. 

It was rainy. It was dark. It was crappy.

Morgan ushers the girls to the entrance. I grab the dog, open the door on my side...and...and feel myself sinking into water.

Note to self: Check freakin’ parking lot in the morning to see how close we came to drowning.

There were people playing cards at a folding table in the dining room where I suspect they just ate dinner.

The two big cats sitting on the window sill completed the Norman Freaken Rockwell scene.

I follow Morgan and the girls up the stairs clutching the dog for dear life.

Dog doesn’t make a sound.

At the top of the landing are two rooms separated by the stairs we just climbed.

Morgan puts the girls in one and directs them to go right to sleep in their clothes.

Won’t that be fun, kids?

No!

I put the dog down on the linoleum floor in our bedroom noting the pattern is the same as one I grew up with.

Dog begins dancing the Tarantella while Morgan prepares a place for her to sleep.

Note to self: Have dog’s nails clipped when we get home.

He then turns to one of the blackout shades and attempts to put it up.

On queue the giant shade falls down with Morgan trying to grab it before it hit the floor.

The crunch was deafening.

It finally lands but is in need of a serious ironing. He rehangs it with its new configuration.

I’m forced to remove the drenched jeans knowing full well they were going to be just as wet in the morning.

I brush the big bug off my pillow and settle in.

I have to go to the bathroom.  No!  But I have to.  No!

Morgan accompanies Amy downstairs to the bathroom passing the card players who are still going strong.

Amy cases the joint. She returns wide eyed and ready to report.

There were teeth soaking in a glass!

Go to sleep now!

Morgan falls unconscious as though he were at a Hyatt with fresh satin linens caressing his exhausted body.  Me?

Not so much.

Finally, daylight. I don the soaking wet jeans, wake Morgan and instruct him to gather the girls.

Upon the four of us making our way down the stairs we are offered breakfast... Bed AND Breakfast...Get it?

Morgan politely declines.

We head for the car but not before I check to see where it was parked last night.

It was rainy. It was cold. It was crappy.

The lot was dirt and puddles.

But, there was the mother-of-all-puddles just outside the passenger side of the car.

That was where I got out, clutching the dog who surely would have drowned.

I asked Morgan what he paid for the rooms that night.

Ready?

Ten dollars!

Really?

That was very reasonable, I comment.

Should we make reservations for next summer?