If you order a piña colada, don’t expect fresh coconut cream to come pouring out of the plastic bottle. And that woman who greeted you at the door with the flowing red feather boa, the gorgeous eyelashes and the high cheekbones? She’s actually a man. But as the lights dim and the uproariously naughty, catty and, yes, classy choreography and comedy unfolds on stage, you realize there’s nothing at all fake (aside from the cleavage) about this 41-year-old fiery drag cabaret. A chorus line of fishnetted legs kick into the air one minute; the next, the buxom mistress of ceremonies, Darcelle herself, points out a man in the crowd and exclaims, “Looks like a TV dinner from here. All that meat and no potatoes!” Next up, a Bette Midler impersonator purrs into the mic, followed by an outrageous chaps-wearing rhinestone cowboy. In the audience, a trio of elderly women dressed all in purple look as though they just got off the cruise ship for the evening. A bachelorette party yelps out catcalls from up front. And a crew of rowdy architect-types cheer on their buddy who just joined in the fun: “Y… M… C… A!” It’s always a party here, and everyone’s invited, no matter your orientation.