Three muscled drag queens in shimmering gowns emerge from a black SUV. They scamper like lost mice for a mirrored door. The one in a hot pink wig presses the buzzer anxiously, while the other two scan the strip mall parking lot behind dark sunglasses. We’re deep in Pacoima, a dangerous corner of San Fernado Valley, the pornography capital of the world.

These thrill-seekers, and hundreds more before them, have made the pilgrimage to this California storefront to pledge allegiance to Jonny McGovern, one of the most underhanded spiritual leaders of the homosexual underground.

Past sentries and a security perimeter, McGovern runs a cavernous training camp that few from the moral majority will ever see. Sequined fabrics hang from the walls. The floor is pure glitter. Crude trinkets and plump red pillows round out the unnerving clutter. But don’t let the sassy Bedouin chic décor fool you. This place is also a high tech media center that sends out secret communiqués to a national network of hardcore sodomites. And McGovern, like some bearded speedballing trucker grinding a lot lizard behind the dumpster at a Chick-fil-A, won’t quit until he’s exploded his hot, steamy mess into the deepest bowels of Gay America.

From his early days in New York City, John McGovern was groomed to be a puppet of the Radical Homosexual Agenda. His handlers managed his education in long forgotten terrorist cells with names like “Opaline,” “Happy Endings” and “Boysroom.” They styled him a “jock” and a “top,” a rare commodity in a metropolitan area teeming with some of the most powerful “power bottoms” in the uncivilized world.

His bright eyes and slack jaw led to rumors of psychological incompetence, while the awkwardly 80s clothing style suggested a suburban boy out of his element. Of course, the “Super Homosexuals” of Gotham drooled with excitement.

Today, McGovern is the only one laughing at his profound mental defects. He sits atop a video empire that reaches around traditional media to grope the homosexual community with shocking firmness. His targets are adult sodomites, those whose relationships likely spiral away in alcohol and indifference. These are the types forever chasing the high of their very first time — an inner city sauna where dreadlocked thugs took turns, a Jewish sleep away camp where the word cockamamie took on a deliciously sarcastic meaning.

With his flagship program Hey Qween, McGovern trains such men to rediscover the thrill of transgression. Each transmission starts with Lady Red Couture calling the gays to the screen, like a muezzin calling the faithful to a mosque. Is Lady Red his muse or his curvaceous concubine? Mamacita or puppet master? On internet message boards devoted to the show, the debate forever rages on.

McGovern himself enters after too much fanfare. The bearded hulk looks caged in his garish suits, like he’d rather be wrestling a beach pit of Brazilian go-go boys barechested. He’ll mumble into his sleeve for a few moments before flying off script with crazed rants against decency and taste. His thick, sultry voice gags you like too much peanut butter on a Triscuit. But viewers at home are titillated by his flamboyant tirades. Many will go on to repeat his mannerisms deep into the night, much to the shame of their peers at the local homosexual disco.

To explore the theme of flamboyance further, Jonny has a rotating cast of guests. Many are drawn from Illuminati powerhouse RuPaul and her harem of painted enchantresses. Some of the most outrageous drag stars of the day — with farcical names like Adore, Alaska and Visage — have fallen into Jonny’s musky embrace. These queens offer a master class in late stage homosexuality, covering topics such as extreme gossip, throwing shade, fierceness, volume and “tucking.” One thanks the Heavens that Reverend Falwell is no longer around to bear these abominations witness.

Yet these crimes are not enough for trashy tycoon Jonny McGovern. His empire also includes MTV music videos, international homosexual conventions, clothing-optional cruise lines, lingerie, a male pornography series called He’s Fit, another called Whoa, Dude!, the TMZ rival Hot T, and Judge Lady Red, a Law & Order-type crime procedural that has reportedly pushed Dick Wolf’s team into some late night legal action. To keep the conversations outrageously raunchy, he’s tapped X-rated comedienne Julie Goldman to troll the comment sections of PornHub for new catchphrases. Pin-up girl Brandy Howard has been hired to lure heterosexual men into this erotic orbit. And, as always, Adam Joseph is there to provide the theme music for every bosom blooper and jock strap malfunction that can be snuck past the censors.

For the experts who have dedicated their lives to ferreting out every nook and cranny of the sodomite underground, the explosive growth of Jonny McGovern’s empire of terror is a shocking development. Radicalization has now become more important than recruitment. “It shows that the Gay Agenda is evolving,” noted Peter LaBarbera, a rock star of the industry. “I’ve been tracking the ratio of tops to bottoms for years now, but I have no data on how many gays self-identify as ‘queens,’” he said, breaking down in a hot puddle of pathetic tears. After a moment, he stiffens and makes a shocking prediction: “America is woefully unprepared for the day when the fiercest, raunchiest queens sneak into our heterosexual safe spaces — like NFL games and Fox News — and detonate all over the place. It’s going to be really, really shady.”