DON'T SLIP A TEST TUBE PUGILIZ IN CARSWOOD CENTRAL WHILE LACE'N YOUR GLUV AT THE PROJECT
The Pugil Police escorted the Pusha and pugilist responsible to a secure private storage facility to act as a makeshift interrogation room. A dimly lit room with a single light fixture overhead. A bunch of old wood-finished cabinets enclose the room, almost like a ceremonial fight ring. Old instruments covered by pale sheets, whose music was long beaten out by the dust and silence that filled the room. And a round table fit for a king and his subjects.
The prime suspect pugilist is already waiting on his side of the ring, while the lead detective, Jabb-C, employs his tactics. Jabb-C ambles in along with his assumed partner Detective Endswell. He brandishes his bestus, a Pugil Police standard issue. It is an innovative gear laced with voltage-conductive shock treatment from the palm of your hand or fist. He removes his G.L.U.V and throws it on the table, jab’n a seat across the prime pugilist in question.
JABB-C: Now listen here… ya’ damn Test Tube! I’m gonna jab you some real simple questions and I don’t want you to bloxay-bloxay or bloxay-blah over any details… ya dig?
Detective Endswell hands him a file, while Jabb-C glosses over it, and Ganja faces off with his desk as beads of sweat begin to form at his forehead.
JABB-C: Your real name is [REDACTED]?
GANJA: G -G- Geah.
JABB-C: You signed the Alleged Gory and fight under the alias Ganja Grin, is that correct?
GANJA: Geah-geah.
Detective Jabb-C adjusts in his seat.
JABB-C: Alright then, let’s spot-punch these details. You last saw the Boxed In Peace in question around 8:15 Pugilist Time, is that correct?
Ganja still faces off with the desk, not acknowledging Detective Jabb-C or Endswell.
GANJA: Grin grin.
ENDSWELL: In English, please punchuko.
GANJA: Geah-Geah.
JABB-C: So what did you do when you last saw him?
GANJA: I-I-I-I was in the Prep Room… about 8:15… Pugilist Time… about to roadi-five-thousand… he was also there. I went up to him…grin’d him…and gave him a mixtape.
Detective Endswell emerges from his corner, interjecting a left and a right in slander. In the midst of the verbal combo, he rubs his bestus together, creating a spark from his hands.
ENDSWELL: A mixtape, huh? So, is that your modus operandi? You grin ’em – then you B.I.P ’em’? Lace up your G.L.U.V with someth’n fatal, then lights out- that your motive, ya FIST FIEND!
GANJA: -G-no, no grin, no grin!
JABB-C: Hehehe, excuse my partna’ over here, he’s just talk’n the ounces. Lost quite a bit of BEF Stamps bet’n on that Fridge BEF you had. Still pains him.
Jabb-C unsheathes a sly foxy grin, flashing his grinna.
JABB-C: The Project now ceremoniously dubs you, The Box Vill’N, as no New Gack has been able to knock you out…yet. Not even The Fridge who gave you the moniker of your name. Impressive, for a Test Tube. Strange your name isn’t on the roster, so what’s up with that?
Project BEF uses a rotating roster to give different New Gacks a spot or place to fight. Some New Gacks get recurring roles while others are not so lucky and fight every so often. Ganja Grin was a special case in which he got called in for short-notice fights. The round of questioning starts up again.
JABB-C: So you grin’d him, then proceeded to give him a mixtape? Well, what the hell you do dat’for – you wanna kross laces with him or someth’n?
ENDSWELL: You selling La’Lo on the side?
GANJA: No grin, it was just my way of being friendly. I never really met the p-pugilist before. Was told to give him the mixtape.
JABB-C: And who told you to give him this mixtape?
GANJA: I don’t know?
Detective Jabb-C stands up abruptly from his round ringside seat.
JABB-C: That’s very peculiar pugilist! Need I remind you this is an investigation of pugilistic intent, of which you are a potential and/or prime suspect… Box Vill’N?
Ganja hesitates before continuing his verbal combo. Jabb-C reaches for his bestus.
GANJA: I don’t know… because the pugilist punk held me at G.L.U.V point behind my back. He was Lace’N, I could feel it.
Jabb-C looks at his partner. Detective Endswell jots the info down on a notepad.
JABB-C: So you were threatened by an unknown pugilist?
GANJA: Geah-geah.
JABB-C: We’ll have to look further into this mystery pugilist. In the meantime, go on about your pugilism as usual… Box Vill’N.
Shows Over.
Ganja arises from his corner and exits. As soon as he steps out and closes the door behind him, a swift jab lands in his upper left arm followed by the phrase: “Jab check, ya dork!” Ganja’s Pusha T-Raw waits impatiently..
“JMD!” Ganja pulls away his arm in defense. “Pusha punk, you couldn’t wait to jab me before we got home, could you?”
T-Raw tilts the brim of his snapback down over his eyes, hiding a smirk, “I’ve told you before Ganja, keep your guard up and your grin down. You always seem to jack up the phrase and do the polar opposite. So… gonna tell me what happened?”
Ganja takes his grinna out of his pocket and chews on it with his right side, “Stop the presses T-man. Nothing happened and it was over in five to ten seconds anyway. And that’s all I’m jab’N for now, punk.”
T-Raw tugs on the brim of his snap once more. “Whatever dork.”
“Good Ol’ Ganja Grin, what a Gackass!”
A slender tall-ish slab blocks the duo from their path. For a pugilist, he had a pretty boy mug; gaunt in the cheeks, the shifty eyes of a slithering hunter. If you didn’t have your guard up, he’d steal your Boxa’s-Honey-Ice-Tea in a heartbeat.
“Nasty Naj!” Ganja Grin grits his grinna guard egregiously.
“Thought I jabbed it to ya before, Gackass, it’s Notorious Naj. I don’t like that Nasty before my name” he raises his left lean bronzed fist to the cut below Ganja’s right eye.
Ganja grins, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be Lace’N with illegal substances, pugilist punk!”
Pusha T-Raw cuts between the BEF with a diffusing tactic. “If you got BEF with my pugilist Naj, I suggest you prep it and cook something up with Warhol Vaude.”
Naj shifts a slimy smile, “Oh, but I do got BEF with your Test Tube… tonight… in the BEF Den.”
Ganja flashes the side of his screwed grin to Naj, “Oh, grin me, you’ll come up with whatever excuse just to take potshots at me.”
“Counter-Jab, but it’s true ya Grinnin Bastard,” Warhol Vaude roadwalks down the hallway. I was just on my way to tell you myself.”
T-Raw tried to counter the counter jab, “Slow your roll, Vaude. Ganja just had a match last night before all this mess went down and now you want him to fight again tonight?”
Fighting short notice was nothing new to The Ganja Grin, but T-Raw, being his Pusha, always felt the need to advocate against it. It’s partly what made T-Raw a good Pusha for such a reckless and self-destructive pugilist like Ganja.
“I’m sorry T-Raw, but this was already sanctioned by Upper Management. We need a little someth’n someth’n to distract from this whole hanging pugilist debacle.”
“And where’s the showmanship in that? A pugilist dies by unknown means and we still have a Show to put on, am I right? Can’t put off The Show for anything, am I right?” T-Raw tugs on the brim of his snap firmly.
“Damn right Pusha, if you don’t like it, you and Box Vill’N over there could BEF for another Chapter–” Warhol Vaude stops himself from finishing the combo. “Look, I’d hate to do this to ya T-Raw, but those are my orders, so do your duty and be ready at seven o’clock Pugilist Time.”
The shifty New Gack and two-tone announcer exit. Leaving the Pusha and his pugilist to prep for the BEF to come. Pusha T-Raw looks to Ganja, who has his head down, his face shrouded in shadow from the dim lighting.
As a Pusha, this is a messed-up situation to be in. But at times like these, this is when a Pusha proves they are one of the most nourishing factors in a pugilist’s career. Pusha T-Raw under a light fixture that seems to shine brightest in the hall, grabs Ganja and gives him a five percent Pusha pep talk.
“Look Ganja, I know you’re tired, you’ve been here all night, by the police and threatened for your life. None of that matters right now because The Show is calling, you understand? Opportunity comes a knockin’ with a one-two combo. One is the non-stop conundrum we face on a daily. Two is the past we face to overcome the present. Now how are we gonna respond, Ganja?”
From the darkness emerges an egregious grin, not the one found on a pugilist chiseled from granite, but a feral animal whose inner peace had been long disturbed.
“With jabs and a grin!” Ganja grins egregiously.
T-Raw tugs his snap, concealing a smirk, “So be happy boxa boy, be happy!”