MERRY JABBINS, GANJA GRIN!
Geminis of white fill the potholes of the open sky like fillings to cavities. Glazed roads that make Roadwork Alley an attraction for an urban-suburban ghetto slippery slope by juvenile pugilists with no regard for oncoming traffic. Due to the Deranged Phenomena, the Ring-Cities experience pugilistic weather fluctuations that will lights you out, if not wearing the proper gear. Along the exterior of Roadwork Alley, a Grinning Bastard and a Jabbing Jackrabbit roadwalk, talking the ounces.
“I don’t know why Jax, but around BEF-mas time, it seems the world itself wants to get in that last jab before the year ends.” Ganja grits his grinna with GLUVs deep in his pockets.
“It’s because you’re a hook Ganja Grin,” Jax says with a cooly exterior. “Half the time I have to refrain from jabbing you myself given your reputation and all.” Jax pauses. “Eh… tis the season. Merry Joobins, Ganja Grin!” Jax jab checks Ganja in the arm.
“JMD punk!” Ganja drops his grinna. He picks it up as he rubs white geminis off of it.
“My fault, my fault,” Jax cracks. “Don’t you normally roadi-five-thousand with T-Raw to The Project?”
“T-man says road walking in the snow is good because it creates chaos in my routine or some bloxay-bloxay blah like that,” Ganja stomps on the glaze.
Jax looks ahead as the slug line to the next scene appears. “Wonder what they got cooking for us at The Project, this time of year?”
Pushas and pugilists alike gather in The Pit. All the Units huddled up in bundled attire. Some roadworking in place just to stay warm. Warhol Vaude wears a gaudy green sports blazer and red stovetop hat, while chompin’ on a big cig-grinna, doing his usual gift of gab.
“Merry BEF-mas, New Gacks!” The two-tone Warhol rehearses in the ring. “The name of the Project this year is Sekret BEF!”
“Ay-uh wats’ Sekret BEF mang?” Box-Mayne slips sucking on a kaned grinna.
Warhol Motion verbal jabs, each one of the pugilists will jab-write their stage name in a ballot. The stage name that pugilist draws will be their OPP for that BEF “You can BEF your OPP in any given setting using K-boards or a ring if present, however you must have a minimum of three witnesses to the bout. Whether you BIP your OPP or not is entirely up to you. B-Bap rules. That’s all.”
The pugilists do as scripted. Warhol Motion takes his top hat and stirs up the ballot. The entire Chapter lines up and picks a paper. Some with festive cheers, while others act as if they had a fist fiend jump out of their stalking and jab them in the jules-tide-barrel. Since The Ganja Grin was not technically part of the Project BEF roster, the two-tone Warhol declared him exempt from picking a stage name. As the last of the pugilists pick their poison, Warhol Vaude stops one towering New Gack in particular, spot-punching him a slip, with the Grinning Bastard stage name plastered on it. “He may not be able to pick a name… but who says no one can jab his.”
After Sekret BEF, the Grin Unit roadie-five-thousand over to Pugilist Pavillion, the gathering hub of pugil-fashion and gourmet-gyms. Most pugilists roadwork here to talk the ounces, buy gear, train, and in some cases BEF for reputation. Due to the Deranged Phenomena, the place was decked out in uppercut-ornaments and dundercut-decorations. Inside T-Raw’s Jab’d-Up Jalopy, the Grin Unit punch-stakingly searches for a parking space.
“Ding, the Pavillion sure is bumpin’ this time of year,” M.D. Q scouts in the second seat.
“Geah,geah, didn’t think there’d be so many B-Baps around.” Ganja grits his grinna, while trying to keep his pugil-tools warm.
“You should worry less about other people, Ganj’ and maybe focus on your shadow-tactics this season.” T-Raw spot-punches a parking space some ways down from the Pavillion.
The Grin Unit roadwalks in the glaze with gemini fists lightly jabbing. Just outside the super-store complex, is the pugil-errant, Pugil-Man From Fif-Street, in a baksa’s rest. Pugil-Man quivers in a Gempsey-Roll motion, a tactic used to elevate a slab’s temperature. They greet the catatonic vagabond known to most throughout the Ring-City.
“What ya doin out here, Pugil-Man?” M.D. Q asks.
“Hey there pushas and pugiliz. Nuthin. Just tryna keap wurm using slippin’ tactiks Pugil-Man learned in his youth. Got any GLUV or BEF stamps for Pugil-Man to bor-row?”
Pusha T-Raw tips the brim of his hat down. He reaches into his pocket and gives him twenty-stamps. “You shouldn’t be out during Deranged Phenomena weather. Please, find some shelter Pugil-Man,” T-Raw implores.
“Yora’grand pusha!” Pugil-Man rejoices. “And dontcha worry about ol’ Pugil-Man! Pugil-Man gotts-ah Sekret Spot!” Pugil-Man continues his bobbing and weaving motion.
The Grin Unit enters the complex. Unbeknownst to them, a slender silhouette spot-punches from a distance.
The Pavillion was filled to every square-inch of the commercialism-canvas. Every B-Bap and their pusha, roadworking for the end of the year firesale. For premium GLUVs, you had Kost-It-Ganz. Their competitor GLUV manufacturer, Sugar-Atlas, with the punch-staking motto: Punches so sweet, it’ll have your OPP saying “Mmm..f-” they couldn’t even finish the sentence with a fist in their mouth. For pugil-fashion, you had PUFU. The acronym short for Punch Us Fight Us with the best crafted track-suits and collar shirts for pusha representation. And of course, the novelty toy store Baks-B-Uz.
“So where to roadi-five-thousand to first?” T-Raw scratches his goatee.
“Guh- actually T-Man, me and Q had a–guh thing to–guh spot-punch,” Ganja garishly gathers.
“We do?” Q quips inquisitively.
“Grin, grin. Some–honey-slips–”
“Honey-slips! Where?” Q readies in a Slip-Slombah (a forbidden stance).
“Over this way Q–” Ganja cheekily grins.
“Like Gackass spot-punched T-Savage, we got places to be and honey-slips to see! Road-back in this exact spot in an hour!” Q rushes off with the Grinning Bastard.
T-Raw stands in incredulity. “Dorks.”
The dastard duo of the Grin Unit roadwalk into a Pusha’s Surplus Store.
“Are you Lace’N!” Q punch-stakingly parries. “There’s no way the honey-slips are gonna be in here.”
“Silence punk! The grinning reason why I brought you with me, was to spot-punch T-Man a gift for BEF-mas–maybe even throw in a couple of stamps my way while you’re at it.”
“You’re lucky I even have enough BEF stamps to spend, with the invoices we get from The Project.” What are you trying to jab check him this BEF-mas?”
“G-well, I notice T-Man is always working on his Jab’d Up Jalopy, so I figured I’d get him a toolbox.”
“Hmm… inexpensive, yet thoughtful. Nice work, Gackass.”
M.D. Q spot-punches the cashier behind the counter. She was a honey-slip worthy enough of being in Project SPICE (Sexy Pugilists In Combat Entertainment). “Alright, here’s the plan: you go search for the toolbox while I Slip Slomb– I mean save us a spot–ah in line, hehe.”
“Geminis and grin!” Ganja grins.
Ganja roadwalks down the aisle. Unbeknownst to him, a silhouette stalks the same aisle. As Ganja peruses the different brands, he spot-punches a particular box that eye-jabs him in the grinna. He picks up the box and pugil-reads, “Reh’s Right Bestus Box.” Ganja grins to himself. “Didn’t know Ol’ Gluv had his own company. Geminis, I wonder how he became a pugil-errant?”
A toolbox from the other end of the aisle dundercuts to the canvas below. Ganja roadwalks to investigate but sees no one. Only a worn out bestus with directions on the leather shell.
“Mmm…grub!” Ganja grins.
A round of rest later, Q roadwalks to the same aisle with a verbal combo of ounce talking underneath his grinna. “Had me waiting in line like a Lace head waiting to get their bestus laced! Too bad, honey-slip had a Breaker boyfriend. Now where did he–” Q spot-punches the bestus and box on the ground. It reads:
“Please pay stamps on this box for T-Man. Went to Sekret BEF location. Grin grin.”
“Gackass better not have me working over the holidays!” Q incredulously answers. “Where’s T-Raw when ya need him?”
Ganja roadwalks some miles down from Pugilist Pavillion over by the wall at Roadwork Alley. The Grinning Bastard spot-punched to the exact spot the bestus telegraphed, but saw no one. The Deranged Phenomena weather grew more erratic, launching gemini-white haymaker fists at unsuspecting roaming pugilists. Ganja assumes his ginga stance, to shield himself from his elemental OPP. He dekes the assault against the wall. As he dodges a gemini fist that would have lights him out, Ganja hears a click from behind the wall. He looks behind him and sees an old Box’Roy symbol. One of the bricks on the wall had been caved in. Ganja soft jabs it even further, opening a passage that seemingly led to an underground tunnel.
Cautiously, Ganja roadwalks into the Vignette Ring. Inside, it was warm and cozy. Built like a pseudo cave-gym. The would-be rock formations built out of a woven textile material ingrained into the very earth itself. In the middle, laid a ring, with an opening in the ceiling above. White geminis that dundercut ever so gently on top of the canvas. In that holiday ring, stood Ganja’s OPP.
“Good googly grin Fridge, I didn’t know it was you!”
Back at Pugilist Pavillion, the pushas push, searching for their lost pugilist in the Deranged Phenomena.
“Where is that G-G-G-G-G-G-Gackass?” Q quivers.
“I knew we shouldn’t have split, but then again I wouldn’t have been able to get Ganja’s BEF-mas gifts.”
“What about mine, T-Savage?” Q quips.
The pusha duo roadwalk into Pugil-Man for a second round. “Hey there pushas! Pugil-Man still grateful, for lending those stamps. Pugil-Man a-boutz-ta roadwork outta here and suggests ya do the same. Temperature’s punch’n.”
“No jibbity-no joob, Pugil-Man and we will once we find our pugilist.”
“Why Pugil-Man spot-punch’d him! Couple o’ rounds ago, he roadwalked out. Telegraphed in the direction of Pugil-Man’s Sekret Spot.”
“Sekret Spot?” T-Raw shadows. “Pugil-Man, could you show us this Sekret Spot?”
Geminis fall from the sky as if the Pugil-Gods themselves decided to sprinkle this delicacy of BEF. The All-Seeing pugilist and the Grinning One roadwalk in parallel, sizing each other up and waiting for a precise moment to strike. That moment came when a single gemini, somehow more deformed and odd than any other that came before it, had caught the gaze of the two Opposing Punching Pugilists. As soon as that deranged sprinkle hit the floor, the BEF commenced.
Fridge used his Clank tactic to sideswipe a blanket of glaze between himself and The Grinning Bastard. Ganja pauses staring into the veil that mirrors his state of mind. Three jabs then punched through the sheet of glaze consecutively. Ganja gingas out the way of each of them. Fridge cuts the veil in half with a hook. Ganja falls to the glazed canvas like a goof, then flourishes with a breakdance kip-up back to his feet, B-boy style. Fridge whips a straight right, but pushes Ganja’s block back all the way to the ropes. The ropes rebound Ganja, slinging him back into a clothesline punch. Ganja slides to the other side of the goal post, slumped over in a rested tableau with his head down. Fridge holds his bestus out in front of him; his all-seeing tactic.
Ganja looks up and gifts his OPP with a grin. “I grin ya Fridge. Just like before. Mmm…grub!” Ganja grits.
The Grinning One reels himself back up for one final tactic. Fridge gets in his cross guard. Ganja pulls back on the ropes like a slingshot and propels himself to his OPP at mach speed on a sleigh. Fridge launches a Clank, but Ganja uses the slipperiness of the canvas to spin out of range and into a Bap right hook to Fridge’s slab. Ganja’s punch had all the smoke, but none of the beef behind it. Ganja looks up to his OPP to gauge his reaction. Two centimeters above Ganja’s head was a prepped dundercut by The Fridge. If he wanted, The Fridge could have knocked Ganja out right then and there. Instead the stoic pugilist motions his bestus in the form of a dap. Ganja grins and reciprocates.
“Merry BEF-mas Seymour.”
T-Raw, M.D. Q, and Pugil-man look from the sidelines.
“Why didn’t Fridge just BIP the Gackass?” Q asks.
“It’s because Seymour wanted to give Ganja the gift of consciousness this BEF-mas,” T-Raw taps his hat down with a sly curvature of the grinna.
“If Pugil-Man would’ve known he’d have an audience, Pugil-Man would-have spruced up the canvas a bit.”
The day after the Sekret BEF, Ganja is awoken by a jab check from his favorite pusha.
“Jab check!”
“JMD punk!” Ganja grogily grins.
“Wake up Dork. Sekret BEF may be over, but BEF-mas has just begun.” T-Raw said with a sly grin. “Let’s roadwork to The Kave.”
Giddy like a B-Bap receiving their first GLUV, Ganja runs through the halls of T-Raw’s Krib leading to The Kave. As he enters, the room is sprinkled with green from a lava lamp placed in the center. Next to it, a brand new stand-up speedbag and slab-work pads for practicing tactics.
“Gemenis and grin T-man! I didn’t mind-jab we made enough stamps this year, with the amount of invoices we get from The Project,” Ganja grins ear to ear.
“I worked overt-time at Ring-Depot alot of times this past volume. Merry BEF-mas, Dork.”
“And a krossy New Year to ya too, Pusha punk!” Ganja grins.