Serial Pooper Attacks Swedish Toilets

If there’s one thing this site is known for, it’s BEING CLASSY. 9 times out of 10, you’ll find me pinky up expounding upon distinguished subjects such as: fart jokes, giving sexy leers directed towards various knockouts, and nutshots. It’s in the refined spirit of our humble little Hobo Parlor, that I come to you with today’s topic: Sweden’s “Poo Man.”

Apparently some weird crap is happening to random Swedish households. No, I’m not talking about Ikea furniture, there’s a solid gold nutjob who has been breaking in to homes to poop in their toilet. The sicko burglar breaks in and drops deuces, doesn’t flush, then leaves. The crappy criminal doesn’t steal a thing, he merely leaves a stench of destruction in his wake.

Fecal felony.

Fecal felony.


I know what you’re thinking, “weirdo sneaks into and house and leaves gifts for all to discover? Why, he’s like a Scatalogical Santa Claus!” but you’re wrong. While St. Nick is  one who breaks and enters, he draws the line at entering to “break one.”


Victim Markus Andersson said of the ordeal:

“I returned from work to find someone had left a deposit in the toilet. I scolded my partner first, but it was not her. Someone had walked in, sat down and sh*t  then walked away.”


I’d like to take this portion of my post to address the “Poo Man,” directly. You might not know but, this drunk tank of a blog has avid readers all over the globe, including a bizarre cult-like following in Sweden. Chances are this miscreant is one of US, and for that very reason I’m going to speak with him now.

Dear Poo Bandit,

Say there pretty baby, I’ve read about your sh*tty adventures and for starters I want to say, I am a big admirer of your work. 

Today, I’m going to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime, one that I hope you consider thoughtfully. Poo, I’d like to manage your career. You see, I’m one of your people, and I think I’ve got what it takes to get you to the next level. Why do I say that? Because, dear “Poo Man,” I too have a toilet related nickname, they call me: “The Punisher.”

How did I get this name? Easy, one day I was minding my own business at the pantheon of housewares, Bed Bath and Beyond. As I glanced over the 75 different duvets they offer, my guts began to churn, instantly I knew it was the siren call of the sh*tter. Without hesitation I quickly made my way to the ladies’ room, and just as my biscuits hit the toilet seat, I unleashed an unholy evil upon that poor public restroom. In between the cramping and cold sweats, I heard a woman open the door, cough and leave. Lover Fo’ Life, who was merely my boytoy at the time, waited for me in the section right by the bathroom, he witnessed the coughing woman’s reaction after she left the restroom, “AW HAIL NAW, THAT BATHROOM SMELLS LIKE STRAIGHT UP DEATH!”

Several minutes later, I emerged ten pounds lighter and ready to join the land of the living once more. I pretended like nothing happened in the restroom, and told L4L that I “lost track of time on my phone.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I took so long.”

“That’s interesting because I would have thought after the giant crap you just took, all that’s left in that poor bathroom is porcelain rubble and a black scorched stall!” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, the THREE WOMEN who tried to use bathroom, sure said enough as they stormed off. Besides, the stench has wafted out all over this section of the store, it smells like fart city up in here. YOU PUNISHED THAT TOILET!” 

Ever since that fateful day, he’s teasingly called me, “the Punisher.”

As I was saying, “Poo Man,” I feel you, dog. All you want to do is torture unsuspecting Swedish families with your terrible dumps, a noble crime if ever there were one. I’m going to just cut to the chase, your criminal nickname needs work. As your manager, I will see to it that your very boring name, “Poo Man,” is replaced with a moniker that better fits you. Maybe something like, “The Sneaky Squatter,” “Toilet Terrorist,” or “Smelly McPoops.” No? Well, ok…let’s see, you’re a jerk who visits people’s houses and drops off horrible messes that haunt them for years…Ooooh, I know! We’ll call you “The Sh*t Stork.”

Now that we’ve got a far superior name, my next act as your manager is to make sure you have a catchphrase, as all great criminals in the movies have them, and I propose yours is, “You’ve been plopped.”

Do you see the MAGIC that I am pitching to you, my darling “Sh*t Stork?” Stick with me and we’ll smear your disgusting legacy WORLD WIDE.

Your Admirer (and proposed manager,)


In all seriousness, I’d hate to be the Swedish cops investigating this crap, I’ve watched enough CSI to know that various samples must be collected.



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