Jodie Mitchell is slowly moving around the stage, blowing into a microphone. Playing God, Mitchell puffs heavily, so as to clear an imaginary cloud, before pointing out some of the omnipotent deity’s more questionable creations, from the bee sting to the – what’s that? Ah, yes, the fragile male ego. Mitchell, cool and charismatic throughout, exhales loudly on to the invisible patriarchal mindset, which responds by crying like a baby. The audience erupts with laughter.

This is the LOL Word, a collective of queer female and non-binary comedians founded at the Edinburgh festival three years ago by five friends who were all bored by the male-dominated comedy industry. Alongside Mitchell, they are Chloe Petts, Chloe Green and comedy duo Shelf (Rachel Watkeys Dowie and Ruby Clyde, who have produced the current show from afar). There’s also a changing lineup of special guests. Their name, as many queer women will know, is a play on the infamous TV series The L Word.

The group’s sold-out Monday night show is a snapshot of life without patriarchy and queerphobia. Certainly, the explosive success of The LOL Word, which has also been selling out shows in London, points to a lack of inclusive comedy. “Women and non-binary people were craving comedy that wouldn’t actively upset them or just be completely unrelatable every single time someone walked on stage,” Mitchell tells me.

Refreshing and revitalising ... Chloe Green in The LOL Word. Photograph: Murdo MacLeod/the Guardian

It’s hilarious, slick and smart, with heart-rending insights into the performers’ personal experiences as they put a microscope to the bleak intersection of misogyny and homophobia. This is, explains Mitchell on stage, a way for them to process their trauma.

The audience of mostly lesbian and queer people are left emboldened by the evening. The only person looking slightly uncomfortable is a token male audience member called Andrew, who was bold enough to sit on the front row and is soon ridiculed by Petts and Green. That the collective aren’t completely PC is stressed to me before their show, with Mitchell quipping: “We offend people all the time; it’s just that it’s the straight, white cis guys.”

Petts, who is MCing, opens with a heartwarming sketch about her supportive mum, before explaining how embracing her masculinity means that she sometimes gets misgendered in public places such as coffee shops. The howling that meets her story about correcting a barista for calling her “sir” is indicative of how relatable this content is to the crowd. She is confident, laid-back, casual – and very funny.

An ode to queer subcultures ... Chloe Petts in The LOL Word. Photograph: Murdo MacLeod/the Guardian

Elsewhere, Green mixes a maverick comedic cocktail that’s simultaneously wholesome, witty, insightful, graphic and cutting. Everything she pours out is lapped up, from jokes about being invited to a nude lesbian oil party to her former job running the Labour party’s social media channels. At one point, she’s reduced to tears when the crowd readily sings Lou Bega’s Mambo No 5 at her request, before she embarks on a feminist lyrical analysis of the track, noting how it doesn’t pass the Bechdel test. Ironically, she adds, the pornographic film 2 Girls 1 Cup does.

It ends with a special guest: singer-songwriter Grace Petrie, whose well-received political songs map the essence of the show. Her appearance is a reflection of The LOL Word’s high standing among LGBTQ+ women and non-binary comics (other guests this fringe include Suzi Ruffell, Sophie Duker and Sarah Keyworth).

The LOL Word kicks back against years of demeaning jokes about women and the LGBTQ+ community. This is all about punching up, not down, as Green tells me after the show. As a lesbian, it’s refreshing and revitalising to watch: they are energetic and exciting, oozing with passion. The LOL Word is proof that you don’t have to mock the marginalised to be funny. They’re an ode to queer subcultures: butch, femme, and whatever else they want, really.