Play Boy in Chief is Gonzo.

The old profligate did not leave this world with a bang. He departed  with a prolonged whimper. Hugh Hefner, prince of the playboys, died yesterday in California in a hired room of his old mansion and alone. After 91 years on earth the end could be be delayed no longer and he obeyed the summons of God.
Suddenly the play bunnies and the bright lights, the glamour and the glitz, the chimera of fame, the parties and the popularity mean nothing. When a man dies he leaves this earth on his own and, on his own, he must answer for the legacy of his deeds, good or bad.
Far be it for me to pass a final judgment on this peddler of sex and sleaze. That is the sole prerogative of the Almighty Himself. Let me remark, however, on the death of Voltaire. He was the French Hugh Hefner of his day nearly three centuries ago,
As the grim reaper approached his bed he reportedly cried out in terror saying.
"In my lifetime I have mocked God and spurned the idea of hell. Now I fear that both are all too real."
I was not present to hear his last words when Hugh departed on his final journey, but let us hope that they were penitential enough to be printed in a better magazine than the one he founded.

Jubilate.

Ian