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It’s been an exciting past couple of weeks judging your submissions, and we’re finally ready to announce the winners of our Stage Builder Contest for Yeah Jam Fury! This gnarly award goes to Drarky’s stage named “I miss the old pogo SFX” (sorry dude, perhaps a future DLC? This stage pushed our coordination skills to the limits by requiring extremely precise reaction time and control. After calming down and thinking critically about the situation we managed to finally snag that mango. All three winners of these categories will be receiving a 0 Amazon e Gift Card, a Steam Key for the game, copies of our soundtracks, as well as this poster of a real mango: Mango Poster Congratulations you three!It may have taken 500 attempts to clear some of these stages but we’ve completed them all and are excited to share our top picks! This one goes to “The Keeper of The Forest” stage by Anton G. Our fingers became basically defunct once we finally cleared it. Before closing, we also have some runner-ups in each category that we think deserve honorable mention: First runner-up was Len’s stage named “YJF Printer: Yeah, Jam, and Fury”, a strong candidate for the Yeah League.Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.

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Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps.

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