Bring in da noize, but kindly leave da funk at home

Here's a little bedtime story from your ol' friend Todd. Enjoy, my little ones.

I believe it was 1999 when my brother, my friend Dave, and I experienced THE SMELL. To this day, all I have to say to either of them is "THE SMELL" and they literally recoil in disgust.

We were at a club in Louisville called Have a Nice Day Cafe. It was a kitschy place that played disco and other hits of the seventies. Their drink specialty was jungle juice in huge half-gallon fish bowls; they were supposed to be for a group of people but I'd carry one around like it was a martini, drinking it all by myself. The three of us were standing there, me with my bucket of booze, Dave with his Budweiser, and my brother with a glass of red wine, when suddenly we were simultaneously nostril-raped by the olfactory equivalent of Dirk Diggler. We all literally gagged, then looked around for the offending smell; perhaps someone was gutting a marlin or wearing a suit made entirely of old tuna fish. No, it seemed to be coming from a very attractive young woman who was ordering a drink at the bar. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, not because she was pretty, but because I didn't want to believe that smell could come from an alive human. When she left, however, the foul stench followed her like she was the Pied Piper of stinky.

I turned to say something to Dave, and the poor guy's face was turning colors like a character in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. When it turned plaid, I bought him another beer. Everything was okay for a minute until the odor came back with a vengeance. "This time, it's personal" it seemed to say ala every bad sequel ever made. My brother actually vomited a little into his wine glass. She was right behind us, directly under an air conditioning vent, blowing her moldy goat cunt flow onto us like the mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. I couldn't help but stare at her crotch, expecting demons to emerge from what was clearly the Hellmouth, until my eyes were seared shut by smell-heat. We quickly retreated to the upper level, my brother guiding my temporarily blind ass up the stairs 'lest we lay dead at her feet, overcome by THE SMELL.

Sure, it was a disco, but she brought more funk to the party than George Clinton.