Hugh Hefner: I'm Glad He's Dead

Is that a mean headline? Deal with it. Those were the words
coursing through my mind when I learned the Crown Prince peddler of smut had passed
away.  Well, more specifically, I thought
of that one scene in the 1989 version of Batman.
Jack Nicholson as the maniacal Joker has a board-room sit-down with the other
Gotham crime bosses. The well-dressed boss at the other end of the table mocks
him with “What’s with that stupid grin?” After he rejects the Joker’s schemes
for a citywide takeover, the Joker grabs his hands with a nuclear buzzer and
roasts the guy. After clearing the board room, the Joker mocks his charred
criminal competitor with: “I’m glad you’re dead!”

Yep. That’s exactly how I felt when I read about Hugh Hefner
huffing away to the Afterlife—wherever he plans on going, who knows? The
liberal, enabling mainstream media has been more charitable, of course. “Surrounded
by his family” stood out in all the obituaries in most of the obituaries, with
some of the making the front-page headlines. What a cruel irony! This man’s
perverse industry helped destroy plenty of families, in my cases by warping the
hearts and mind of boys, who became troubled men and bad husbands. The moral vacuum
that was Hugh Hefner could not have been sucked away sooner.

No apologies, folks. Just his once, I am not going to give a
decent eulogy for a dead man. Just because a corporate executive pushes a
product which pulls in a profit does not make him a good man. Seriously, I am
so glad that he’s gone. Frankly, I am surprised that he lived to the ripe old
age of 91 years old. Of course, I wonder how much color or character those 91
years really had. Being a sex fiend isn’t really all that it’s cracked up to
be. Jack Nicholson was the Wolf of Mulholland Drive, and now no woman will
touch him to scratch him. There’s something about man’s deeper need for love
that a lot of one-night stands cannot replace. In Hefner’s case, I guess having
your pick of six or seven girlfriends a night won’t hurt you as long as you
have the enormous wealth to buy as many doctors and health care options as the
next guy.

Honestly, the significance of this dirty old man’s sudden demise
is very gratifying. But for now, let me play Devil’s Advocate (boy, how a propos those words are right now). The
liberal media establishment is hell-bent on paining this perv in the best
light. They point to a few reasons why, but I shall happily debunk every one of
them:

But there is a silver lining to this dark cloud of
anti-American debauchery. In fact, I submit it’s a billowy white cloud of glory.
The Sexual Revolution was never one to begin with, and more people are figuring
that out. Every day, I meet young Millennials, or better yet their post
Millennial counterparts, and they reject the destruction of family and
marriage. Why? In many cases because they are seeing the destructive results of
this coarse, selfish behavior from adults, and how all of this mess hurts children,
including themselves.

The “Hippie” Counter Culture which made Playboy something
celebrated if permissible is now as stodgy, boring, and un-hip as Mitch
McConnell in a bikini. Pro-life and pro-family values are the new cool, the new
counter-culture, and Hefner’s death is the further signal that the destructive,
anti-religious, anti-Christian ethos of Hugh and the Bunnies has gone stale,
like those dirty Redd Foxx records. We realize today that any smut peddler
tapping into the baser nature of men is not a visionary. He’s just a greedy
schmuck looking to make a buck. This is nothing new. What was more striking
about his later years, though, was that his hallmark sham magazine dispensed
with naked women in the centerfold. I guess a sense of shame finally kicked in.

Once again, I’m so glad that Hef is dead—and to our credit,
his legacy will die away just as fast, unlike the proverbial bunnies which
breed like, well, you know!