The Gender-Nonconforming Camp Kids Are Adorable, But Their Parents Are Probably A Nightmare


A photo book about a summer camp for gender-nonconforming kids has reached its funding goal on Kickstarter. I’ve read about camps like this before, but without seeing photos of the happy children themselves, I had no idea how cute the whole thing is.

One thing that’s really great about the photos is that no one is getting their ass kicked for wearing girl’s clothes. The class weirdoes have finally found a place to let their freak flags flap in the breeze with no bullies around to ruin the fun with wedgies and Indian burns.

Sadly, all summer camp getaways must come to an end. So for the children of the unnamed camp for gender-nonconforming kids, that means you’ll have to go home and see the two high-powered douche-nozzles you call Mom and Dad.

Mom is a vaginal secretion who lives in morbid fear of gluten and the male gaze. She can frequently be found at the olive bar in Whole Foods, filling a large plastic container with Kalamata olives and abandoning it in the $20 imported chocolate section. She once started a petition to get a Confederate-flag bumper sticker removed from a neighbor’s car. Her hobbies include hating Republicans, feeling really bad for poor people, and saying that she literally can’t even.

Mom spent her college years getting punch-fucked by burly alpha lesbians in Birkenstocks and was so traumatized by it that she shacked up with the first omega male who had the right number of zeros in his bank account—which brings us to dear old Dad.

Your father is a droopy-faced armpit stain, a prolapsed anus in man-capris and sandals worn with white socks. He enjoys following hashtags of political protests on Twitter and reading Literotica. He loved jamming out to old-school hip-hop until your Mom complained about the lyrics that marginalize women. He’s cheating on her with a really ugly Latina from work. He’s a regular contributor to the Good Men Project and hasn’t clipped his toenails since the first Iraq War.

He let his best friend give him a toothy blowjob once in college just to prove he wasn’t homophobic. He’s worried that you may have inherited his lactose intolerance. He watches really scary porn that would make your Mommy cry if she saw it.

Your parents’ favorite TV show is Portlandia, but they’re too full of themselves to realize they’re just like Fred and Carrie. Their lives are a cartoonish brand of bleeding-heart liberalism that serves as a cover for the yawning emptiness of their souls and their insatiable need to feel important.

The best day of their lives was the day your Mom caught you trying on her granny panties. She was a little embarrassed by how period-stained they were, but your father was so ecstatic he didn’t notice.

Your Dad jumped on the bed and exclaimed, “Honey, he’s gay! Our son is fucking gay! Can I get a presidential fist-bump, my sistah?”

Your mother rolled her eyes at him but they were wet with tears of joy. She deadpanned, “Honey, he doesn’t know he’s gay yet. He’s gender-fluid.”

Your Dad stopped jumping and stared at her for a moment, realizing the significance of your gender curiosity. He said, “Oh my nonexistent God, gender fluid?” with stars in his eyes.

They spent the next six months showering you in gluten-free cupcakes, makeup, and girl’s clothes. Your father started a Tumblr to post photos of him smiling and helping you put on high heels. Your parents scored so much liberal cred that day. Finally, they could be allies to an oppressed minority.

When you left for camp, your parents missed you so much they marathoned Rachel Maddow episodes on DVR and pigged out on kale chips and organic wine. They nearly had sex, but your Mom dodged your father’s weak advances by claiming she was on her period.  Later that night, he masturbated in your room and ejaculated all over your gender-neutral toys.

Your parents are a symptom of a disease. They are two swollen testicles in a hairy scrotum of overabundance who spend their free time telling people to check their privilege. They think they’re champions of the poor, but they’re really just rich fucks who think they are better than everyone else.

You, on the other hand: You’re all right. Have fun at camp and try to forget about them for a while.