“Boobies,” The Hef is reported to have sighed as he took his last breath before shuffling off this mortal coil. “Boobies, boobies, boobies.”
The founder of Playboy magazine passed away on Wednesday in his home in Beverly Hills, a mansion that – like all of his empire – bore the brand name he made famous by mashing a word meaning recreation, into the word for a pre-pubescent male, and making it synonymous with sex and rabbits.
Best known for supplying multiple generations with an odd, plasticized version of sexual liberation, Hugh leaves behind a legacy of almost pathological attachment to silk, and an example of how old a person can get without having to mature in any significant way.
“I don’t think Hugh is in a better place now,” chortled millions of men and women as they awoke to the news that he had died, headlining above images of the The Hef surrounded by young women expressing their sexual freedom by living in a cult devoted to an old, pyjama-wearing guy housed in a mansion made of innuendo and varnish. “How could he be? What could be better than running an adult daycare for 50 years? Amirite? Am I?”
Hugh is survived by his wife, a bevy of blondefriends, and four children who are left with an ordeal no child should ever have to go through: burying a parent taken too early, before they were even able to grow up.
“It just makes me so sad to think what he could have become,” said a teary-eyed woman as she rushed past a makeshift memorial of flowers, candles, and bunny ears piled up outside of Hefner’s sprawling home – which is also the largest known depository of 1970’s kitsch. “Holding the attention of an entire generation like that, having broken the mould of sexual repression, only to reform it into another form of control. One that disguised itself as the vanguard of liberation, but in the end was no more modern than a silk smoking jacket.”