(adj); The sweaty, dirty vagina you encounter on a lady who has just been to a rather active gig. Often both parties of the encounter are too fucked off their faces to care about the obvious hygiene implications involved.
Hairdresser: Have you had a good weekend, sir?
Customer: Why yes, I tell you, I went to a gig and got some proper Grunge Clunge. Scrubbed for hours when I got home. When I close my eyes, I can still smell it. I swear, you could almost see the stink-lines. But oh well, a clunge is a clunge.
Hairdresser: Oh, sir, you do have the most OUTRAGEOUS stories. Now, how long would you like your dreadhawk?