In a heist fit for a bizarre heist film, two men were convicted for the 2019 theft of a $6 million gold toilet from Blenheim Palace, proving that crime truly doesn't pay when plumbing is involved.

The peculiar case, where valorous thieves turned to toilet theft, culminated in the convictions of Michael Jones and Frederick Doe, highlighting how even the boldest criminals can't flush away the consequences of their actions. Despite the masterminding of accomplice James Sheen, who is now a cautionary tale of hubris after a flood of evidence linked him to the crime, the golden throne remains missing, believed to have been disassembled and sold off in pieces—much to the dismay of bathroom enthusiasts everywhere.

The theft, which took place on September 14, 2019, is one of those rare events that brings a cheeky grin to the faces of tabloid readers and a furrowed brow to the police. The culprits, armed not with high-tech gadgets but rather with sledgehammers and a crowbar, executed their heist with all the finesse of a runaway dump truck. In a display of remarkable efficiency, they smashed a window and removed the toilet from its plumbing within a mere five minutes. This swift operation not only emptied out a prized piece of art but also created an unfortunate flood, leaving behind a deluge for palace staff to deal with after the looters made a quick getaway.

Speaking of the toilet, it wasn't just any lavatory; it was an 18-carat gold masterpiece crafted by Maurizio Cattelan, aptly named 'America.' Previously held in high esteem at The Guggenheim Museum, it was now on its way to becoming an unholy relic of an audacious heist. The toilet, valued at approximately $6 million, was admittedly a dazzling piece of art, but one questions the aesthetic choices of the thieves who chose to swap a life of drudgery for the plumber’s nightmare that would ensue post-theft.

Prosecutors later put their case together like a complex game of Clue—without the predilection for butlers or candlesticks. They discovered that DNA evidence linked James Sheen, described as the mastermind of the heist, to the crime scene. With all signs clearly pointing at him, it’s a wonder he didn’t get a fancy title in Crime 101 classes for the error-laden escapade. Sheen eventually pleaded guilty to charges of burglary and conspiracy, while his co-conspirators were left attempting to navigate the judicial plumbing that seemed to snare them like a rogue drain.

In a plot twist befitting a sitcom, Michael Jones and Frederick Doe's convictions stemmed from a smooth criminal network. Jones, who had done reconnaissance at Blenheim Palace the day before the grand heist, might have felt secure in his scheme, but one could argue that preparation can only take you so far when armed with rudimentary tools. He was later found guilty of burglary, and it’s fair to say that his plans were less than flush.

Doe's crime was more about the planning stage, convicted of conspiracy to transfer criminal property. It’s a position that lets one admire the audacity of these men—using euphemisms like 'cars' and various dollar amounts in messages related to the stolen toilet. Who knew bathroom fixtures could be discussed in such grand & veiled terms? Clearly, the dialogue didn’t have a sink to make things clearer.

Tempers flared when Bora Guccuk, the alleged fourth accomplice, was acquitted of charges related to the theft, leaving some to wonder if the jury had secretly sided with the throne. As it stands, it appears that the legal system has more facet than the bathroom mirrors these characters might be craving, but at least someone walked away a bit less saturated in trouble.

In a final stroke of irony, while the toilet was insured for £4.75 million, its market worth at the time of the heist was thought to be around £2.8 million. One can only hope that the thieves consulted a goldsmith before their escapade; the idea of disassembling such a commode could be seen as a hefty loss. It's clear this theft was less about practical bathroom needs and more about sheer audacity—though one might question the hygiene of such ambitions.

As for the toilet itself, it has never been recovered, sparking theories that it may have met a fate worse than regular plumbing mishaps. Some speculate that it was cut up—perhaps to be sold in pieces like so much avant-garde art—while others are left to ponder how much one would pay for a ‘vintage’ gold toilet on the black market. Adventures in luxury plumbing are notoriously elusive.

In conclusion, this heady mix of art heist and plumbing mischief shows that sometimes, the simplest toilet can complicate lives in the most extravagant of ways. The theft at Blenheim Palace has captivated the world, leaving behind a trail of laughs, confusion, and a stark reminder that kmystery can boil down to more than just simple pipes and plumbing of life.