Another round of Fuck
DJ Shaun Slaughter leaned against the bar, yellow T-shirt splattered with blood and a cut below his right eye oozing the stuff. Was it possible that Slaughter, who was jumped back in January, could have such shitty luck?
Nah. This time, the injuries were merely part of the evening’s theme, which called for attendees to don bloody clothes and hockey masks (ala Jason Voorhees of Friday the 13th fame). Still, aside from Slaughter, the crowd at the re-launching of Fuck Fridays at the Townhouse appeared to be relatively unscathed—faux or otherwise. Slaughter fiddled with a cow bell as he waited for his drink, his excitement nearly tangible. It was official; Fuck Fridays was back.
The club night, which opened in February of 2005, lasted only nine months before the Townhouse shut its doors, effectively putting an end to the short-lived, much-loved dance party. Apparently, it was a stink between the owner of the Townhouse and the owner of the actual building that led to the venue’s unexpected closure. After a brief stint at the now defunct Tower Club, the night fell by the wayside.
Now, the party would pick up where it left off: providing the cool kids (you know who you are!) with cutting-edge dance tracks and energetic live performances. DJ Roger Carpio spins upstairs, while Slaughter and DJ Jon Droll share duties on the lower level.
The flyer for the re-launch of Fuck boasted, among other things, free shots of whiskey. Sure enough, sometime after midnight a man who shall remain nameless for his own protection made his way through the sea of hot, sticky bodies offering up swigs of Jim Beam. As the bottle made its way through the crowd, one couldn’t help but feel pity for the person left with the unfortunate task of polishing it off. Alcohol kills communicable diseases, right?
Just when it seemed as if the ceiling might start dripping sweat, a rancid odor invaded the club. The stairwells flooded with sweat-drenched dancers making their way to the front door and the promise of fresh air. For about 10 minutes it appeared as though the disgusting odor might put an end to the night. “It’s not safe,” barked a bouncer at a group of disgruntled souls waiting impatiently outside.
Rumors of a propane leak circulated, but were put to rest after it was determined that it was just some asshole who let off a stink bomb. Those with damaged nasal cavities continued dancing, while others took the horrid smell as a cue to head home. Either way, everyone knew the stench wouldn’t put an end to Fuck Fridays—at least not this time.