Imagine this scenario: you and some of your man-whore friends decide that decompressing in the middle of nowhere with queer allies sounds like a great way to spend a Sunday.
You rock up with a plate of brownies to the moonscape that stinks of alpaca piss and shit. You get out of your car and are physically assaulted by the smell.
You are greeted by some ogres with assault rifles and full larp army gear. They demand to see your gay-card before they let you in. One of them keeps demanding if you are Earl, or if you know who Earl is.
You go into the filthy house that stinks of trans piss, shit and stink ditches.
You are forced to listen to hours of deranged ranting by Penny and the fed-poster guy. They keep asserting that you are trans, that every man is trans they just don't know it yet.
A blond goblin occasionally appears and scurries to the fridge to get some suspicious coloured juice, all the while screeching how they don't have the spoons to deal with anything right now!
You eventually are able to leave, as you walk to your vehicle you try to make no sudden moves to avoid being gunned down.