There are a lot of great things about working at Man Camp. All the lonely guys who walk into the bar have money, and they’re eager to spend it. And you don’t have to sell anything ‘special’ because you’re already fucking special for showing up. It’s easy to make money.

And a big part of this ‘easy money’ is due to the fact that at least once a night, you stand on the stage, naked, and have these thrown at you:

For my non-Canadian readers, this is a Loonie. It is valued at one Canadian dollar, and measures about 2.5cm in diameter (1 inch). They’re about twice as heavy as a quarter.

Anywhere else in Canada, it is illegal to throw coins at dancers. It’s dangerous, it hurts, and some assholes are sick fucks and do things like lick the coins before they throw them, or worse, heat them up with a lighter, sometimes causing permanent scarring.

And, in true Albertan fashion, this province has decided against following with the rest of Canada and continues with this abhorrent cultural practice.

For three songs I dance around on stage, strutting my stuff. For the fourth song, and sometimes fifth and sixth, I take a business-card sized magnet with a skanky picture of myself on it, lick it, and stick it somewhere on my body. The magnet becomes the target, and the clients start tossing coins at it, with the objective to knock it off my ass,  claiming it as their prize.

This is without a doubt the worst part of stripping in Man Camp. It’s also the most lucrative. In ten minutes, you can make hundreds of dollars.

The biggest challenge is to keep smiling, all the while encouraging them to continue throwing more.

Man Camp

I just survived my first night of Man Camp, Canada.

(not actually Man Camp, Canada but not unlike Man Camp, Canada)

It’s the only strip club for hundreds of kilometres in the middle of the oil fields.

Yes, there are a lot of meth heads.

Yes, I had loonies thrown at my bits.

And yes, I most certainly did made a fucking mint.

There are four strippers. That’s eight tits for thousands of hard-working souls who are starved for attention. I never thought I’d say this aboot my own kind, but CANADIANS HAVE FUNNY ACCENTS. Sometimes they sound Irish, other times Scottish, and other times like every and any character from Trailer Park Boys.


I woke up this morning to the most fantastic email from my best friend, comic genius and non-stripper, Gen. I’d like to share it with you.

yo girl
i had this dream last night that you and i were strippers/performers in post-apocalyptical montreal. i’ve dreamt about montreal in that way before, where everything is sloping into the river and in shambles. IT was nuts. we used this crappy stage in an old banquet hall, and our get-ups were mostly made of sheets and bathing suits. when i finally got up the courage to be naked the WHOLE crowd was men from our respective high schools. you were unafraid, but i left my sheer ugly nightgown on. someone threw loonies at us, and then the show was over. your ex-girlfriend came to pick you up because she had a motorcycle, and i stayed in the building to steal food from the banquet hall freezer.


Je t’aime.