Theater has the capacity to push you into entirely new experiences — and that’s definitely the case for me with Snatch Adams & Tainty McCracken Present It’s That Time of the Month, a sui generis celebration of female genitalia that dispenses the Eve Ensler-style monologue for a wacky throwback talk-show format hosted by a talking vagina (Becca Blackwell’s Snatch Adams) and a foul-mouthed taint with pillowlike testes dangling beside his head (Amanda Duarte’s Tainty McCracken).

As a gay man who survived Catholic schooling in the ’70s and ’80s, I admit that the show — which opened Thursday at Off Broadway’s Soho Rep — marked a number of firsts for me, including the first time I’ve penetrated a vagina. Yes, theatergoers must pass through a bedazzled vaginal curtain, walk along a pink fabric-lined fallopian tube of a hallway to enter the auditorium, where the stage boasts an oversize and gilded depiction of the female body as a gynecologist might view it. (The elaborate set, along with Becca and Tainty’s similarly campy costumes, are the work of Greg Corbino.)

“You thought this was a play. It’s a variety show — even Soho Rep was terrified,” Blackwell admits early on, as Snatch grabs a theatergoer for one of several bits of audience participation. While Blackwell and Duarte are working (very loosely) from a script that lays out the show’s various sketches and set pieces, there’s a sense of antic improvisation throughout — producing some hilarious moments, as when a straight male audience member struggles to put on an old-fashioned, pre-adhesive sanitary belt (“You build bridges and shit, and you can’t do this. Engineering will not help you here,” Snatch quips). There are also, as you might expect, some jokes that don’t quite land.

Blackwell, looking like the love child of Tilda Swinton and Carrot Top while projecting a wide-eyed sense of wonder and enthusiasm, is well-matched with Duarte, who helps shape the material with sound effects, verbal prompts and cynical asides that straddle the line between stereotypical straight-guy braggadocio and urban woke-guy ally-ship. Together, they offer a united front in both entertaining and educating (did you know the average U.S. woman spends $18,000 on sanitary products in her lifetime?). They also advocate for widespread affirmation of all aspects of the female body (including frequently stigmatized viruses like herpes and HIV, which Snatch dubs “Henry IV”) as well as the rights of women to make their own choices about those bodies.

One highlight was Snatch’s interview with a guest star: At my performance, it was Bridget Everett, veteran cabaret performer and creator/star of HBO’s brilliant Somebody, Somewhere. Blackwell proves to be an utterly disarming interviewer, coaxing Everett to open up in hilariously shocking detail about her past (including her mom’s diaphragm) and her personal experience with her body (“I think I’m a two-liter queen,” she jokes of her monthly flow).

Needless to say, It’s That Time of the Month is not a show for everyone — it unfolds like Pee-Wee’s Playhouse as directed by John Waters, with Planned Parenthood as lead sponsor. But there’s a great deal of craft in play here — emphasis on play — from Corbino’s cartoonish set to animator Derek Rippe and Nicholas Zeig-Owens’s ’70s-style interstitial videos to the fake ads for everything from poppers to menstrual products (with an onstage assist from sidekick/assistants Amando Houser and Mecky Hermenze). There’s even original music by Beastie Boys alum Adam “Ad-Rock” Horovitz.

There’s also a welcome level of inclusiveness that comes into sharp relief during a heartfelt monologue toward the end from Blackwell, a self-described “person of trans experience” who shares a bit of their journey presenting to the world in two genders (fart jokes get more laughs as a man) while making a compelling case for accepting people as they are, without trying to probe the particulars too closely. We don’t need to name things, or define things, in order to affirm them, Blackwell argues. You may have light flow, or heavy flow, or you may not menstruate at all. In Snatch Adams’s world, it’s all good.