JET AT YA JAB
A jacked-up jab from a New Gack was nothing new to the Ganja Grin. Lace’N ran just as rampant during his B-Bap days as they were now. Some pugilists were just fixated on the idea of becoming stronger by any means necessary, even if took a more experimental touch. Others, however, did not feel the need to rely on such experimental crutches. There used to be a time instead of padded Primetime records, pugilists would put everything at stake for a BEF, they weren’t sure they could come back from. These pugilists were High-Occupancy Boxas.
H.O.B as they are called, warrant the attention of every fight fanatic in the Projecting City. A term usually associated with the highest status of a pugilist, that being a Grandmasta, but one does not have to carry the status in order to be a H.O.B. As a Warhol puts it:
“H.O.B. put asses in seats!”
Little did Ganja and T-Raw know. One was moving right next door.
On the cul-de-sac of Jabbity Klub Drive, a Pusha prepares. T-Raw gets ready for work at his nine-to-four at Ring Depot. Before the Pusha roadi-five-thousands out of there, he gives his dork of a test tube pugilist a combination of rules and regulations.
“Listen up dork,” T-Raw baps at the grinning bastard. “We don’t have our next fight and BEF stamps are scarce enough around here. After your last BEF, you shouldn’t really be doing much of anything no-way.”
Ganja Grin verbal jabs, “Grin and grits! The home ring is mine!”
T-Raw ends his combo, “ But if anything is out of whack while I’m gone, I’ll have Q wire the other half of your grin and beat you until blood comes out the other end ya dig?
“Grin?” Ganja says indecisively.
“And no talk’n the ounces to any honey-slips,” the Pusha punk concludes.
As T-Raw rounded to the end of the corner, a moving truck made its way onto the street. Someone was taking residency in the house beside Ganja and T-Raw. Without T-Raw, Ganja decided to slip the initial greet, so he headed on back in the garage. As he jabs the button a new BEF arose. The door to The Kave wouldn’t close.
“No grin, no grin, no grin,” Ganja rapidly jabs the button, but to no avail.
After several tactics were employed, each tactic more unsuccessful than the last, Ganja grits his grinna in desperation. With T-Raw, BEF was bond and Ganja’s BEF with The Garage was only the beginning of his problems. Ganja goes switch mode as the new challenger in the form of his neighbor appears.
“Jet a second.” The neighbor jettisoned. “Think I got your Rabid Punch Monthly by mistake; already have my issue. My name is Aureios Jadran.”
Part of his steelo included a “Release the Rubens” t-shirt, (a pugilist convicted of three BIP’s outside the ring) regular regulation-sized rings in the form of glasses, and a pointy beard.
“Ganja Grin,” Ganja grins softly. “I’m just a freeloader that lives here. Terrell Savage is the owner, but most call him T-Raw.”
“Ganja huh? Is that you’re real name or -”
“Grin, grin, it’s my stage. I pugil for the local chapter at Project BEF,” The braided Test Tube verbal jabbed.
This seemed to spark the fuel lit in Aureios’s eyes as he said, “Man, I remember when I used to be a New Gack, but now I’m just a pugil-errant of a handyman.”
In that split second, it was as if a laced jab had spot-punched the inner machinations of Ganja’s right hemisphere with a tactic. Ganja gargantuantly grins, “That’s dope, because I think the garage is actually jabbed up beyond all repair. I know we just met but maybe you could-”
“Spot-punch no more,” the golden answer to Ganja’s dilemma slips. “But on one condition. You come to my garage and we talk shop about pugilism.”
This intrigued Ganja as he didn’t have a lot of other B-Baps to verbally jab it up with. The two pugilist connoisseurs go next door. Aureios’ home-gym was the work of a craftsman that could rival that of a Grandmaster Boxa in trade. Stucco walls with intricate designs. Without T-Raw, Ganja normally wasn’t the conversational type, yet somehow Aureios’s easygoing nature made it easy for the Grinning Bastard to relax.
“So what’s your B-Steez?” Aureios asks, pulling out a box from the truck. “You rep for Carswood’s Chapter?”
“Grin, grin,” Ganja jerks his chin up and down. “Well, technically I’m not on the roster, so I’m no New Gack. They call me in whenever they need an impromptu BEF. Most other New Gacks call me a Gackass though.”
“You sound like a punchuko,” Aureios says.
“Word? I’ve been called that before by another New Gack, what’s it verbal jab?”
“It means you’re a roaming pugilist who doesn’t follow normal tradition. And hey, G-bag those guys that call you a Gackass!”
“Ganja grins, “That’s nothing, I’m sometimes called Gackass by my Second Pusha.”
“Ha!” Aureios laughs brightly. “You’re a different kind of pugilist I’ll give you that, but check this out.”
From the box, Aureios pulls out a plethora of pugilist cards highlighting H.O.B moments throughout Project’s history. Grandmaster Boxa, Bippy Bep, and his notorious V-tactic footwork. The current number one Primetime pugilist, Lion of the Koast. Even the legendary BEF between King Krait and The Sage Mongoose who went fourteen rounds alone with the Heavy B. Ganja’s grin stretched from corner to corner as some of these were pugilist collectibles. Then Aureios decided to show Ganja something that would really knock the screws out of his grin; his GLUV: Aureus Jet. This GLUV belonged to none other than former Primetime pugilist, Jet Jabuar, famous for his uppercuts, dundercuts, and air combos. The jet pugilist had enough momentum in punches that he could literally juggle an OPP for at least five seconds.
“Gemini my grin, you’re the Jet Jaguar!” Ganja ejects. “Jab-so fast it’s like a jaguar flying a jet! You’re one of the fastest jabbers on this Ring-City of The Project after your BEF with Pugilist Without A Name.”
“Yeah, that was a tough BEF, but me and my golden GLUV mach-punched through.” Jet verbal jabs. You seem to know your stuff, so maybe I could spot-punch you with my tactic, the Jet-Jab, you know just for punchies.”
Ganja looks at Jet with an egregious incredulity. “Stop the presses! You mean you would teach a Gackass like me?”
“You clearly show an interest in this as much as any Primetime. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Gackass or not.”
“Good googly grin! I’m going to shadow-tactic the Jet! Q could kiss my back BEF!”
Ganja goes to grab his GLUV from T-Raw’s Krib. Jet stops Ganja, telling him that won’t be necessary, as he would not need it. Ganja just had to do one thing to get better at his jab. Catch a fly. At first, Ganja thought it was a joke, but then realized the Primetime was not jabbing his grinna. He was spot-punching serious.
Ganja found his BEF cruising around some beat-cans outside. The flighty OPPs were erratic, small, and annoying as a fist fiend too laced on their own bestus. Ganja tried to catch the flies with both hands like a geriatric, but then it dawned on him to use his stance and try catching the fly as if he was jabbing it. Still, this was no easy feat for the grinning Test Tube of Jabbity Klub Drive. If Ganja tick’d left, the fly would tock right. “Tik-Tik-Tik!” The Ganja Grin would grit and miss, miss, miss the grinning fool would get. After some time, Jet goes wingman to assist the jabbing maverick.
“You’re too tense.” Jet foxes. “Only at the point of near contact do you clasp. Some more practice and you’ll not only be faster, but increase power to your punches from a shorter range.”
“Grin, grin Jet, you got a geechie perspiring. Could you spot-punch me the time?”
“Ten minutes to four.” Jet verbal jabs.
“Good googly grin the garage!”
The two odd pugilists went back next door to T-Raw’s Krib. Jet surveillance scans for any problems. Ganja stands guard in the driveway as a lookout for his Pusha half. Aureios notices a pile of junk blocking the safety sensor and moves it. Ganja rushes inside and closes it. Ganja profusely thanks the former Primetime H.O.B for saving his grin, then jabs the Jet to the side door exit in the garage, leading to his home-gym next door.
“We should do this again sometime!” Aureios said with a golden grinna.
Ganja grins “Jab right Jet!”
Moments later, T-Raw enters the Krib, ticked. He jab checks Ganja for moving the box out of place. Turns out T-Raw left it there on purpose to see if Ganja would follow his stage direction to a fault.
“Jab’n Much Damage! It was blocking the sensor ginga-ma-bobber,” Ganja guiltily goads. “Just as much as your fault as it is mine, ya Pusha punk!”
Unbeknownst to Ganja, T-Raw grins like a fox. This was just an excuse to give Ganja a more extreme workout regimen in preparation for his next BEF to come.