Property Room — Swamp P.D.
The Evidence Locker
Confiscated at the scene of arrest. Tagged, bagged, and somehow still appreciating in value. This is the whole shelf — everything the swamp P.D. pulled off the frog and could not, in good conscience, throw away.
One (1) monocle
Suspected stolen. Still fits. Refuses to surrender it on the grounds that it 'completes the look'.
Ledger, leather-bound
Written entirely in fly-blood. Mostly profits. The losses column is a single doodle of a laughing toad.
Cigar, half-smoked
Still lit at the moment of arrest. Defendant requested it back 'for closure'. Request denied.
Burner shell (lily-pad model)
Held 47 unsent threats, all spelled correctly. Last draft reads: 'tell my brother nothing'.
Brass tongue-press
Used to forge tongue-prints on shell pondcompany filings. Recovered still warm. Smells faintly of crime. Ties directly to the § 09.1 laundromat score.
Jar of assorted teeth
Not his. Not on file as anyone's. The lab is 'looking into it' and would very much prefer not to.
Forged pond deed
Grants the entire south marsh to 'B. T. Mickey'. Notarized by a frog who, on inspection, does not exist.
Single rubber duck
No explanation given. Defendant smiled when asked. We have decided not to ask again.
Matchbook, 'Big Tongue's'
Reads 'UNDER 4th & CATTAIL, ASK FOR MICKEY'. Recovered from a gutter. Single-handedly ended the § 04.2 casino. He should have never printed the address.
Deck of cards (all the same card)
Fifty-two identical aces. Confiscated from the storm-drain floor. Defendant calls it 'a confident deck'. The lab calls it 'a felony'.
Tin cup that pays out
Recovered in a cellblock sweep. Rigged to a false bottom. Defendant insists it is 'morale'. Morale is now in the property room.
Sympathy card, laminated (denied)
Addressed 'to my loving brother, who forgives you'. Defendant read it once, laughed for a full minute, and asked to have it framed. Filed. Not framed.
The shelf keeps filling
The Next Exhibit Lands on the Feed
Officer Croaksworth tags it, bags it, and files it after the fact. PooPee posts the story of how it got there while the paperwork is still wet. New exhibits hit the feed first — the property room is always the last to know. Follow on X and see what got confiscated before it's ever logged.
Follow PooPee on X — @getpoopeeNo visiting hours. No wallet. Just the feed. Do not eat the evidence.
The lay of the swamp
The Swamp Map
Five ways deeper into the underworld. Pick a door — they all wind back to me eventually. That's how you know whose swamp it is.
- The Rap SheetEvery count they could make stick, and a couple they invented. I did all of it grinning.Read the charges
- The JobsThe heists, worked step by step — the casino, the tongue-press, the pad that never was. Every exhibit on the shelf started here.Case the jobs
- The CrewEvery toad, cricket, and bent cop on the payroll or in my debt. Loyalty runs one direction. Down.Meet the crew
- The Croaktown GazetteThe swamp's fish-wrap of record. They run my name on Page One every week. I never write in.Read the front page
- Cellblock DispatchThe incident log from Cellblock D, kept by the same cop who runs this property room. He keeps busy.Read the log
Lost? Good — a frog who can't be found can't be served. Every trail on this map is a work of parody; follow at your own risk.