COPS and funk

I've been officially told that my Jeep has a funky smell to it.  A little background to my story is merited.  Heather bought the Jeep before we were married.  It's a 2000 Jeep Cherokee and we love it.  It has cloth seats which has it's plusses and minuses.  It has been the victim of neglect: the windows have been left open during rainstorms on a few occasions and has been the mode of transportation for 1, now 2 children for the past 4 years.  Being poor students, the last time it was detailed was probably when Heather bought it 6 years ago and we have never shampooed the carpets nor the seats (if you can do that).  As I'm sure you can realize, it probably could use an air-freshener.  

After killing two cars and buying a van, I have come to inherit this beautiful vehicle with a 4.0 liter, V6 engine: a true gas-guzzling, American made SUV.  I love it!

So, continuing with my story, I was driving home from work last night, talking to Heather on my hands-free set, when I was faced with the all-too-common problem: traffic light turned yellow and I was at that certain distance where the light would just barely turn red before I got to it, but stopping would require slamming on my breaks.  I decided to go for it.  It turned out to be a bad mistake.  Because I had been talking on the phone, I didn't see the cop driving DIRECTLY BEHIND ME!!  On come the blue lights.  Heather heard the "Oh, crap!  I'll call you back" from me, which she has come to associate with me either destroying the engine of the car I am driving or getting pulled over.  

I pull over, I get the "Sir, License, registration, insurance.  Do you know why I pulled you over?"  I replied kindly.  Then I get the unexpected:  "Sir, can you step out of your car please and follow me?"  I step out and follow him to the back of my Jeep, expecting him to point something out.  Instead, he looks at me and says, "Have you been smoking marijuana in your car lately?"  

"What?" I reply, not sure that I heard him right.

"Didn't I catch a whiff of pot when I walked up to the window?"  He spells out for me.

"No" I replied, with the tone of: I-don't-know-what-you-smelled-but-it-certainly-wasn't-that (or at least that's what I hoped he took it for).

He excused himself, stuck his head in the car, and took another whiff.  He came back and apologized, saying that I could get back in and that he must of smelled some sort of "funk" from my upholstery.  

I got off with a verbal warning to come to a stop at the light, as well as a non-verbal one: maybe it's time to do something about that funk coming from the fabric seats!