Like the snows of yesteryear, gone are the days of civility, kindness, and most of all...UNCLOGGING YOUR OWN SHIT FROM THE TOILET!

We've got a poop outlaw on our hands, Jeans; and their vile exploits would rival the likes of Jesse James, Pablo Escobar, and Al Capone. I recently had the unfortunate pleasure of discovering the mother of all clogged toilets here in the men's room of YMH Studios; a shockingly common occurrence for a place of such high-society. But this time it's different, this time...the pooper has come from outside of the family and we aren't going to let them off charmin-clean.

Now listen, it's one thing to dam the porcelain throne, pull your sleeves up like a good human being, and plunge the living hell out of that hole as a common courtesy to your friends. But it's an entirely new level of subhuman to drop a Fat Man sized excrement bomb in the can and flee the scene of the crime. A lesser studio might've moved on and let this tragedy of justice slide. But not here. Not us.

Thanks to some high-level detective work by our in-house stool sleuth (thanks Cougar), we have a prime suspect who's identity will be revealed next week. For right now though, we'd like your thoughts on who committed this crime.

-Tyler, Photoshop Papi

Just a word to the feathering community about what I've been up to. If you watch my You Be Trippin podcast you'll notice my ads have been filmed in front of a lot more palm trees than normal. Well, I've gone traveling. Taking a good old fashioned college style gap year from comedy but with less support from my parents. Been to 10 countries so far and got turned away from an 11th. Saved a couple street dogs and one little house boy. Almost got robbed only once. Ate a ton of great food and stayed in a lot of shitty hostels. It's been a wild trip. Right now I'm nursing a 12 day case of diarrhea I got from eating street meat at Carnaval right before they closed one night. Bad mistake. I'm an awful traveller and you should never take advice from me. 

Because I'm kind of a hippy dork, this was a solstice to solstice trip. On June 21 I was in Alaska in the northernmost town in the Western Hemisphere. 24 hours of sunlight! So difficult to find the right time to masturbate. So I ended up staring at the sun and just doing it outside near a whale bone while the local inuit tribesman looked on in disgust. So I jumped to Mexico and started working south till the winter solstice at the southern tip of the hemi on December 21 near a colony of penguins that you're not allowed to hunt for their really cool pelts that would've looked sick in my studio. It's not my fault they're endangered. Then I started chasing the sun north again and here we are with a bunch of Brazilian diarrhea that flairs up every time I see a nice butt which is every 7 minutes out here. 

Next edition of this journal I'll tell you guys a story from out there. Maybe when the Mayan tribe I was staying with got invaded by a Dutch frat. Or doing blow in the Peruvian desert with Australian bogans. Or the time I got diagnosed with a curse by a Bolivian witch in Lima. Or maybe when I got adopted by the boosters of a Guatemalan football club and learned how to sneak booze into a stadium. Not sure. But I'll give you one later. I told Heather I need more time to think of a good story to tell you guys so give me a fucking week. I just got back and I'm busy just enjoying brushing my teeth with sink water again and flushing used toilet paper instead of putting it in the trash can on top of someone else's poop paper. We live like gods in this country and we're taking it for granted. 

Keep 'em high,

Ari

As you can imagine, there are no shortages of audible bodily functions at Studio Jeans. The girls = burps mostly (outside of Carley who was awarded Biggest Farter at the Christmas party) and the guys = farts. Tom farts with reckless abandon, and who can blame him? He does own the place. Tom is a master of the Fart Walk. I’m talking sensei-level shit. He takes great pride in a gaseous interruption. I’m still unsure who farted in this clip, though. Was it Enny or Tom? (only caught the tail end of the fart, but it was loud)

     We get a lot of Cool Guys and Gals in our DMs and many of the messages are fully unhinged. Here’s a few of our favorites.

You smell that? It's Women's History Month! It's that time of the year to salute the big titted animals who paved the way for cool gals everywhere. But not just, cool gals, but cool moms, ball hogs, and everything in between. So pull those girl boss jeans over your head, grab some nuts, and enjoy this classic drop that reeks of Irish Spring soap.

-Cougar, Shit Sleuth

It has come to our attention that some of our newer Mommies don’t know that Brendan Urie (yes that guy from Panic! At The Disco) made possibly the most bangin’ theme song ever for THE original Cool Guy, Robert Paul Champagne. 🎸 It’s still stuck in our head 6 years after its inception.

If you wanna move in, you can move in.

Tom’s dad is certainly missed in the Mommyverse. In honor of Top Dog, we’ll be sharing OG dad jokes that he loved.

Thanks to McDoogle in the YMH Discord for suggesting this! If you want to suggest or contribute to a segment here, email us at [email protected]

You put a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of the pool.

If you’ve made something and want it seen by other degenerates, send it to
[email protected]. Don’t just lurk, contribute to the chaos! Our “email” is spread wide open for you to stuff some “mail” in there.