There once was a man by the name of Shityphus, whose tale is sad but true, something to remember only in the chilling depths of a morning fogs brew. 

Our Shityphus yearned to be a painter, to see the great wonders of the world and bring them back to life wherever he went on Earth. The only problem, he had an abysmal lack of artistic talent and creativity. So in desperation, he prayed to the god Apollo and begged for painting ability. Apollo flew down and blessed Shityphus with the most inspired eyes and ability for visual art. With one catch. Shityphus must never stop painting. If he were to stop except to sleep, even for a moment, Apollo would strike down and put an even worse curse on dear old Shityphus. 

Henceforth, Shityphus was an acclaimed artist and praised to have such a wonderful eye for everything good, beautiful and true. Then one day, it came. The worst stomach cramps, rumbling gas that carried for a mile and a constant need to go to the toilet. Shityphus had IBS. He tried to paint through the pain, even resorting to painting his own excrement on the side of the toilet, but one day he was too taken over by the euphoria of bowel release. His hands slipped from his easel and his finger paints fell to the floor as he moaned a sigh of relief. That’s when shit hit the fan. Apollo shot down in a fury, and revoked all of Shityphus’s artistic ability. He placed his final curse on Shityphus: From now until the very end of time, Shityphus must work from sunrise to sunset cleaning every single toilet on earth. 

This is why you may hear strange rumbles in your house at odd hours. Do not fret, it’s not a robber, it’s not a ghost, but dear old Shityphus on the job. If you try to strike up conversation his shit breath will smell so utterly offensive that you’ll faint at the first whiff. This is the plight of Shityphus, with his mop and broom and no one to talk to except piles of poop.