Chapter 13 – Don’t Grin Under the Bed/ Grin No Evil

“Urban legend says, if a pugilist doesn’t go to sleep before a fight, a fist fiend slips in your bedroom, knocks your lights out, then takes your eyes and hands as a reward. Whoever road-worded that must have said it, so their OPP would be at a disadvantage before a BEF. When the OPP never showed and ended up missing, the pugilist became concerned over the words he spoke. Then one night he couldn’t go to sleep as well. That pugilist– also ended up missing. Grin no evil. BEF no evil. But don’t quote me pugilist, cuz I ain’t said Gack!”

In the night sky above Jabbity Klub Drive, a comet flies overhead. Inside the interior kitchen of T-Raw’s Krib, The Ganja Grin and Pusha T-Raw horse stance at a table under a yellow fixture that lights the room as they enjoy a meal together. Suddenly, the lights flicker out. Ganja looks to T-Raw to assess the situation, but his Pusha is GONE. Ganja attempts to let out a verbal jab, but his voice is muted. Behind him, the entrance to The Kave flings wide open like a portal to another dimension. Laces creep out of the portal tightening its grip around the Grin’N Bastard. 

Ganja attempts to yell, but wires close his mouth completely shut, all the while keeping the grin on his mug. The laces slowly drag Ganja into the void, with his grin, being the last thing we see before the darkness completely envelops him. 

The Grinning One resurrects from his hibernating canvas in a cold sweat. Ganja darts an eye at the clock that sits on his wooden dresser. It’s three-forty in the morning. Ganja gets up to look at himself in the mirror. He grins and shadow tactics in the silhouette of night.

Throwing on his usual steez of bloxay-bloxay-blah, The Ganja Grin spot-punches to take R&D for roadwork. The Ring-City was covered in Perspiring Fog; Deranged Phenomena weather with little to no effect other than clouding visibility. As Ganja roadwalks out of T-Raw’s Krib, a deranged entity stands across the street, spot-punching his way. The ominous pugil-errant’s steelo consisted of a top hat obscuring the windows of his soul, long trench coat, cornrows that unfurl in whichever direction; like after-images of combinations, and an untamed scraggly beard. 

Off-guard, by the Odd Deranged Bastard, Ganja gives the spectator a nonchalant head nod. A tactic very distinct in this time period (just to let people know you were cool). The Odd Bastard however, just continues with his baleful stare. 

Ganja gives a false grin and continues towards his roadwork. Ganja and R&D make their way through Roadwork Alley. The Perspiring Fog seemingly thicker than at T-Raw’s. Random jalopies pass by every now and then, shedding some light. In the distance, Ganja hears a feint whisper carried by the wind as if the phrase was dundercutted into his brain: 

“Jab… Jab… Jab… Kill… Kill… Kill.”

Ganja looks around to try and find the source of this mental sucker-punch. Behind him, he spot-punches the Odd Deranged Bastard from a distance carrying on at a molasses pace. Another jalopy passes by with its high beams on. Ganja rubs his eyes together and the figure dissipates into thin air. After completing their roadwork, the duo returned to T-Raw’s Krib. Pusha T-Raw prepares for his nine-to-four at Ring Depot. 

“Don’t forget Ganja to have your gear ready by the time I get off work, Dork.”

Ganja completely disregards T-Raw’s itinerary as he stares out the front window. “Did we get any more New Gack neighbors on our block, T?” 

T-Raw gives Ganja an out-of-pocket look. “Nah and I’m not playing around ya Grin’N Dork, you always–” T-Raw bloxay-blahs as Ganja looks out the front window at the Odd Deranged Bastard who had returned to his original corner-spot. 

“Jab check!” T-Raw jabs Ganja in the arm, snapping him out of his daze. 

“JMD punk!” Ganja turns away and grabs his arm. “Fool, instead of sucker-punching me, why don’t you sock the punk stalking and staring at our home-gym?” 

T-Raw looks out the window, but sees not a single silhouette in sight. “Who ya’ staring at Dork?” 

Ganja points out with a jab, “That Odd Deranged Bastard, right there!” 

T-Raw pauses, before responding to Ganja, “You should get some rest before the BEF Ganja. You’re-buggin’-man.” 

Ganja, perplexed at first, goes flip mode on his facade. “Good googly grin, I was just foolin’ ya T-man! Spot-punch ya’ at four, pusha punk.”

T-Raw was a little worried, but had no time to discuss semantics, so he roadi-five-thousands out of there. As the down-to-earth pusha drove away, he could still see Ganja in his rear-view mirror, looking out the window in a paranoid manner.

A fiery fist hurls itself toward the ever-punching Canvas. Barely visible with all the brim, smoke, and debris dundercutting downward like a flame bestus attachment. Amidst the forefront of the flaming mass, it seemed as if three fingers or heads arose. Before it impacts –

Ganja wakes up in cold sweat. He checks the alarm on his wooden dresser. It’s four in the afternoon. T-Savage is almost home. Ganja goes to prep his gear for tonight’s BEF. Out of curiosity, he checks the window again. The Odd Deranged Bastard is gone. Maybe Ganja just needed some rest. But surely–he jabbed wrong. 

The Grin Unit traveled in T-Raw’s Jab’d Up Jalopy to The Project. Warhol Vaude does the routine gift of gab, but what comes next is not a jab. When it comes time for the BEF, Ganja’s OPP is a no-show. Security scoured the entirety of the Project BEF complex, but no one could find the New Gack. Even his pusha had only seen him a day prior to the BEF. Pugil-Police had to be brought in to investigate. In the coming days at The Project, other pugilists would be reported missing or wouldn’t show all together. The Sports Complex that was once bustling with a plethora of personas had become nothing short of a ghost town. 

Missing a BEF was a serious offense at The Project. Warhol Vaude gathers the remaining New Gacks… and Ganja to decide the next course of action for the Chapter. Pushas and pugilists alike give the Warhol a combo of verbal jabs and grievances, while Vaude intricately bobs and weaves excuses out his hat. Ganja, not acting his geriatric goofy self, sits hunched over with beads of sweat forming around his mug.

“Yo G, everything good kid?” T-Raw slips. 

“Grin…grin-punk,” the Grinning Bastard groaks groggily. I’m just using Pugil-Focus to speed up my heart rate in a rested position,” Ganja grins falsely. 

“You’re such a Dork, forget I asked,” T-Raw shakes his head in mild annoyance. 

Just when Vaude is about to conclude his combination of regulations, Box-Mayne interjects “Ay- Mang, aren’t you gunna introduce us to the New Gack in da ring wit’ youse?”

(Part 2)

The other New Gacks agree with the third-person pugilist. Ganja slowly perks up as he tele-heard this. Warhol Vaude decides to entertain the notion and looks around the ring, but sees no one. 

“Box-Mayne, what the hell are you talking about man? Are you Lace’n?”

Jax verbal jabs, “Box-Mayne is a meathead, but he ain’t blind Vaude. That pugilist with the hat and trench coat.” 

Warhol Vaude scoffs at the idea, thinking his own lineup was in cahoots on a prank. But surely, he jabbed wrong. “Ha-ha, alright-ok. All the New Gacks who see this imaginary buster, move to the right, and all who don’t to the left, expeditiously!” The pugilists that moved to the right were the usual suspects of the Carswood Project: Tyke Bones, Jax Jabbit, Box-Mayne, Outlaw, The Fridge, and of course the egregious, The Ganja Grin. The other half of the pugilists moved to the stands unable to grasp the odd situation. 

“Box-Mayne, bring ya’ simple behind in the ring and ask ya imaginary friend if they got BEF with me?” 

Box-Mayne reluctantly enters and directs Vaude to the impromptu actor on the stage. “Ay-mang, why only sum pugiliz can see jouse, mang?”

The Odd figure ignored Box-Mayne’s inquiries, only muttering half-way phrases under his grinna. Vaude attempted to end the vaudeville match-up by stepping up to the spot where Box-Mayne was looking. Before he could get his usual verbal jab in, the Deranged Odd Bastard popped an uppercut so erratic, the Warhol’s mug bursted into confetti. 

The whole Chapter was punched silenced. Box-Mayne inched his way closer to make sense of the situation, however, this was just fuel to the proverbial BEF that had just been lit. When Box-Mayne was in range, the Odd Deranged Bastard grappled the unsuspecting New Gack. The next tactic to happen was otherworldly. Unable to break free from his OPP, Box-Mayne had the veins from his wrists split open. He howls in pain as the rest of the lineup looks in horror. The Odd Deranged Bastard lets go of his prey as his trench coat morphs into bat-like wings. With that tactic, he vanishes into the undercover of darkness to the rafters above. Box-Mayne lies on the canvas, in a puddle of his own blood. The pugilists on the left, not believing their eyes, roadi-five-thousand out of The Pit, while the Usual Pugilists are frozen in place. 

“T-T-They’re Boxed In Peace? They’re Boxed In Peace for real!” Ganja gasps from the background. 

In retaliation, Tyke Bones and Outlaw hop into the ring to check on Box-Mayne. Just then, Box-Mayne suddenly resurrects on the spot from his canvas grave. Although the third-person talking pugilist was upright, he didn’t seem to sport his usual B-steez. The wrists where his gash was, had lost a ton of blood from the looks of it.

“Hey punchuko, you alright?” Outlaw verbal krosses to him, while Tyke Bones stands behind with his baleful stare. 

No response. Only a cacophony of feint laughter that echoed throughout The Project. Box-Mayne launches a flurry of sporadic tactics towards Outlaw. The quickdraw pugilist bag-backs and slips anyway he could. Tyke Bones intervened and grappled the former Box-Mayne, shoving him into the ropes. Still no response. This was not Box-Mayne anymore. It was as if his whole B-Steez had gone flip mode. His movements were similar to that of a string puppet. 

“Easy big punchuko, I can handle this,” Outlaw guiles an assuring smirk to the Heavy B. “No more bloxay-blah Mayne of Box. Let’s settle this BEF with a draw.” Outlaw readies his GLUV from the hip. “On the count of th–” but before Outlaw could finish, Box-Mayne rushes in…not that it mattered to Outlaw’s sleight of hand reflexes. He quickdraws his Six-Shot-Jab tactic and lands a blow to Box-Mayne’s grinna. The triggered GLUV trailed with smoke like the barrel of a firearm, but the BEF had not yet been quelled. Box-Mayne was stunned… at first. The undead pugilist recovered at an unnatural rate, and started to mimic the very same tactic that should have knocked his lights out. 

“Son of a–” but before the fast jab puglist could finish, the possessed pugilist fired his Six-Shots into Outlaw’s abdomen. Outlaw clutches his insides as if a dastardly villain discharged lead into his slab. The desperado pugilist fell to the canvas, with internal bleed marks, looking up at the lights that would forever stoke his eternal cave. 

“T– are you seeing any of this?” Ganja grabs his Pusha’s collar in desperation.

Pusha T-Raw takes off his fitted hat and gives a solemn salute to the BIP Outlaw. “My hemisphere can’t even begin to comprehend this nightmare, Dork. I do know, if we don’t take action, then the rest of Project, maybe even the whole Ring-City will be in trouble from this Odd Derange Bastard. Opportunity comes knock’n with a one-two tactic Ganja. The one you can’t see; you don’t even know if the problem is even there. Two is the source that spreads like a disease, with wires detached causing mayhem. Now, how are we gonna respond, Ganja?” 

Ganja has his head down; silhouette casted over his mug, as he involuntarily shakes. “With jabs and a grin,” Ganja grins. 

“So be–”

The platitude is interrupted by the feint psychotic laughter from before. Tyke Bones faces off with the husk pugilist. The Fridge looks up and does his All-Seeing tactic. T-Raw looks up, then observes the BEF going down in front of him. In the lights, he could see barely-visible blood red strings protruding from Box-Mayne’s wrists. 

“A puppet… controlled by a puppetee,” T-Raw looks up again. “The rafters! That Deranged Odd Bastard is in the rafters!” 

“Grin, grin, so what now?” Ganja enthusiastically pats his bestus together.

“Ain’t it obvious ya meathead,” Jax jabs. “we joob the puge and take the BEF to him! Man, you’re such a hook, I swear.”

“Mmm… grub!” Ganja grins egregiously. “Four slabs to one BEF. I grin those odds.”

The Grin’N Bastard would come to regret those words as the Husk Pugilist pounced on Tyke Bones and bit into his slab like a feral animal. Almost as if, transferring his evil essence into the Heavy B himself. Seymour stoically signals to stay to BEF the husk behemoth, while Jax and Ganja would forward the assault. The deranged odd duo proceed to climb one of the scaffolds from below. Jax leads as Ganja follows behind. 

“Hurry up dawg, ‘fore Fridge’s BEF is cooked,” Jax verbal jabs.

“Shatup ya corny bastard!” Ganja grits with condensation on his mug. “Me and heights don’t agree is all.” 

They road-climbed to the top, while Seymour used his long-range tactics to his advantage in the ring; keeping the husk behemoth at bay. Minimum visibility, they can barely make out anything in the darkness. Only distant laughter, heard from the other end of the walkway. They inch their way cautiously with their guards up. 

Jax verbal jabs, “One of us should at least grab him, so the hook doesn’t slip away like before. The other will have to punch his lights out. I don’t trust you enough to aim, so you grab him and I’ll jab ‘em.” 

“Whatever, I’m raw either way, pugilist-punk.”

“Hol’ up, you hear that?” Jax stops dead in his tracks. 

“No grin, no grin.”

“Exactly.” 

The crazed laughter had ceased with no rhyme or reason to it. The derange odd duo had reached the end, but the Odd Deranged Bastard was not a wink in sight. Unbeknownst to the pugilists a black mist was present in the air. 

“Ganja.” A distorted voice called out from behind. 

Ganja turns around and it is the Odd Deranged Bastard. Ganja attempts to grab his OPP, but is pushed away. Being in range for a tactic, Ganja decides to take a shot before the fist fiend could get away. He uses his Boom-Bap-Pow tactic landing each hit successfully, causing the Deranged Odd Bastard to tip overboard from the platform. Although seemingly victorious, the phrase Ganja heard next did not make him grin. 

“GANJA-YOU-HOOK!” 

A loud thud was heard below. Ganja looked around, but Jax was no longer there. Sweat began to form at Ganja’s mug as he raced back down to the bottom. Oddly enough Tyke Bones and The Fridge were both BIP in one corner. A stalemate to the bitter end. Jax’s slab was in the middle of the canvas unresponsive. Ganja slowly approaches, shakily dropping to his knees as he pounded at the canvas. “DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU!”

“Funny, you normally use playful banter instead of full-on curse words,” a voice from outside the ring relayed. It came from the slab of Pusha T-Raw, but not his tone or voice. 

“YOU’RE NOT MY PUSHA. YOU’RE NOT T-RAW,” Ganja grits through his grinna.

The doppelganger smiles like a mischievous grinning cat hopped up on Lace. The black mist returns, altering his appearance back to the Deranged Odd Bastard. This time he brandishes a custom-made GLUV with a syringe claw-like attachment. “Heard you’ve been having trouble going to sleep. Maybe my fists could help,” he smiles. 

“Mmm… grub,” Ganja halfway grins. 

The odd fighters roadwalk parallel to each other. Ganja rushes in. The fist fiend elongates his arm like a murderous cartoon character. Ganja gingas, narrowly escaping the claw attack. With Jax’s slab still in the middle of the ring, Ganja works his way along the right side of the ropes. An unwise tactic, as the fist fiend controlled the very fibers that composed the ring. They tugged and pulled at Ganja’s slab. Like a rubber band, the stringy OPP hurled the Grin’N Bastard towards the Odd Deranged Bastard. The Fist Fiend orchestrated the tactic, striking Ganja in the grin, instantaneously severing the wires that held Ganja’s mask together. 

A sharp pain coursed through Ganja’s gums as if a masochist took the tip of a blade and slowly caressed it at the root. Ganja grabbed his mouth in agony with one hand, the other to defend himself from incoming tactics.  Like a free-flow pendulum, Fist Fiend attacked from all sides. His bat-like trench coat wings swept swiftly with each jab and sparks coming out with each kross. 

The Ganja Grin layed bruised and battered like roadkill on pavement. Nearly beaten within an inch of his menial light, Ganja meekly lifts himself onto his knees. They shake and quake, but above all else, his jaw was completely detached from the mandibular notch to the coronoid process. The mask was broken. On his last stand, Ganja tilts his mug up. The Odd Deranged Bastard looms over his slab, a mix between a ghostly apparition and an arachnid spun on its web. The fist fiend vernal jabs, “You must want dead pugilists to represent you. Grin no evil.” as the final blow is about to be administered, Ganja closes the lights to the cave one last time and grins.

A round passes…maybe two…then three, until the pugilist formerly known as The Ganja Grin decides to take another peek through the cave. His OPP is gone. Not the slabs of his acquaintances or adversaries, but the Deranged Odd Bastard had disappeared. With his stage name retired,  [REDACTED] crawls to a corner, dismantled from grin to below. He looks up at the lights, Beaten In Peace, as water begins flowing out from his eyes.

It’s four-forty in the morning. Ganja wakes up in cold sweat from his bedroom canvas. He grins a sigh of relief, “No more, Ginga Beer before bed.”