Cody, who is sharp, literate and infinitely rock-n-roll, takes a joy-ride that is both hilarious and harrowing. Her memoir starts with her facing a terminal case of cubicle death as a low-level copy editor. She decides to inject a little chaos into her life by entering a dance contest at a seedy strip club. The initial rush is enough to overcome the eww factor and before long she finds herself delivering lap-dances at a series of “gentlemens clubs.” The managers at Choice, DeJa Vu, Shieks and the other friendly sounding clubs each have their own particular take on how to fleece their dancers, yet Cody manages to earn enough money to finally quit her day job. Her penultimate stop puts her in a glass cage performing for a parade of clichéd perverts and bizarre, laughable fetishists, one who surprisingly doesn’t seem to have a problem with Gastroenteritis. Don’t expect something salacious, the memoir is an entertaining expose of someone choked by an upbringing of “normalcy, decency and JIF sandwiches with their crusts amputated” who manages to jar herself free by stripping and ultimately realizes she is more than a confection or a concession.