The young businessman awoke naked in a downtown hotel room. He had vague memories of wandering into a strange bar the night before. Flashes of flamboyant gowns and swarthy, shirtless men crowded his aching head… Beside him, on the bedside table, he suddenly noticed an enormous beehive wig.

He ran to the bathroom.

There, scrawled on the mirror in hot pink lipstick, were the devastating words:

“Welcome to the wonderful world of drag!”

You may have heard this tragic tale of Roy, the traveling salesman. He got mixed up with a gang of female impersonators from the wrong side of the tracks and never looked back. He’s what they call a “drag queen” now. You can thank a lady by the name of RuPaul for that. She’s a television star with a dark secret.

Would you like to hear it?

This Hollywood heavyweight is much more than the international playgirl she pretends to be. She’s much more than the zillionaire business tycoon that accountants in Manhattan office towers whisper about. More than any of that, she’s the spiritual leader of an underground railroad of fugitive drag queens who are escaping convention and wreaking havoc all across America!

Beware Ru’s magic maidens! They’re untamed and unashamed! They laugh at danger and play at love! Every week they hit the streets looking for fresh meat. And you just might be next up on their musky menu of tawdry temptation!

Like a seminar for a West Florida timeshare, the pressure is intense.

We’re here at the hardcore homosexual bar in the gritty part of town.

Flashing lights and loud disco music confuse you as you enter. The saucy bartender stands ready with his cocktails out. They are suspiciously frothy. There will be salted snacks and ample “manwhores.” One of them will feel up your thigh and offer to show you the toilets. But there’s no time!

Before you know it, Ru’s painted ladies will roll in a television set. You’ve been shanghaied into a sixty-minute presentation of, “The Joys of Drag.” There will be spontaneous testimonials, shrieks of Hallelujah! and lots of clapping. Oh, the clapping will be deafening! By the end of the night you might even find yourself singing along to old dive bar ditties like “Cover Girl” as the conga line of mustachioed young men sashays you straight into a bathroom stall!

But the next day, you’ll wake up jonesing for all that jazz. You’ll provoke debates about Alaska with random strangers at bus stops. You’ll cry at the mention of Tatiana’s name and you’ll click and click on Katya’s Instagram until you can click no more.

Then the hunger will start to grow. You’ll scour the underbelly of Twitter, you’ll trade gossip in the grimy alleyways of Reddit, you might even post weepy, pleading messages on Jonny McGovern’s YouTube channel!

At your lowest depths, when you just can’t take that ache anymore, you’ll find yourself cruising the aisles of Party City in a delirious daze. And when you’ve finally drowned yourself in a bucket of sequins and blush, shaved your back and tucked yourself with an extraordinary amount of duct tape, Madame Ru will reappear on that mystical screen to give you one more taste of her wicked wares!

This is what addiction looks like, people!

Tens of thousands of gay bars have signed up for the Drag Race movement. That translates to over 50,000 drag queens! That’s right, each and every week a vast army of magic maidens is mobilized all across America. They take over the streets and command millions more to watch RuPaul’s sticky emissions! And that number is only growing!

This cross-dressing crisis is like no other. No one knows how much shade is thrown in that single evening. No one knows how many damp dollar bills are stuffed in the jockstraps of all those go-go boys. Spectacular quantities of vodka cranberry are consumed! There will be twinks and Marys, jocks and art fags, leather men and showtune queens, power bottoms all! And just when it looks like the drama is winding down, the disco music pumps up and all at once, from Savannah to Seattle, the sleazy grinding gay dancing begins!

This is what a national emergency looks like, people!

A little over a year ago, an investigative journalist discovered that RuPaul is hiding an enormous secret beneath her glamazonian gowns.

In that groundbreaking report, many were shocked to learn that RuPaul is using the Drag Race television series to build an Illuminati cult loyal to her every whim. Recently decoded Tweets from Michelle Visage have added new fears. Now there’s genuine panic at the palace! Ever wonder why Carson Kressley looks glazed like a Krispy Kreme donut on the program? It’s the brainwashing, people! He could be the next victim of a Party City glitter bomb. It certainly explains why Ross Matthews is so nervous whenever Michelle glares his way. This is a “take no prisoners” revolution! No one, not even the loyalists in Ru’s inner circle, will be spared the mandatory drag makeovers!

There’s no better example of the dangers of drag than Roy, the shower curtain salesman we mentioned at the beginning of this piece. After this young man’s night at the hardcore homosexual bar, he traded a promising career in plastics for a lurid one in latex. He changed his name to “Bianca Del Rio” and now Bianca’s trail of tears has stretched from the Big Easy to the Big Apple, and every bottom-infested borough in between. “Stretched” being the operative word here, people!

For Boofy