Hamilton Morris has had some truly terrible roommates: the guy who overindulged on synthetic cannabinoids and covered the apartment with vomit; the one who locked himself out while naked (how and why is still unclear) and broke down the front door; and the Dumpster diver who brought home 50 boxes of crackers teeming with moths, which led to a vicious infestation that Mr. Morris, 28, believes has still not entirely cleared up.

But for the last three years, he has enjoyed relative domestic stability with Thomas Morton, 32, a colleague at Vice Media who needed a place to stay after a divorce and never left.

You can see how they might complement each other. Both men have fearsome gonzo reputations, as befits correspondents at Vice, the multiplatform media empire that now values itself in the billions but still owes much of its DNA to the goofy, adolescent ethos of Vice magazine.

An indie freebie born in Canada in 1994, the magazine has long been beloved by young men for features like the Gross Jar, a column that chronicled the developments inside a jar filled with an ever-expanding, ghastly smelling miasma of urine, hair, mucus and other disgusting items and effluvia.