It’s probably worse than you thought. To (((Hefner))) the goyim were disposable, like chicken bones after dinner.
He was a monster. And all those women praising him damn well know it.
He’s buried now. Good riddance to bad trash.
Stop reading here unless you want to risk upchucking your breakfast.
From 1978 through 1979, Stefan Tetenbaum worked as Hugh Hefner’s valet, doing everything from restocking the Playboy founder’s fridge with necessities like perfectly chilled Pepsi to cleaning sex toys after Hefner’s infamous “Pig Nights,” when the robe-clad Hef would call in prostitutes for his friends. Tetenbaum, now 67 and a sculptor living in Redondo Beach, Calif., shares his stories with The Post.
My job as Mr. Hefner’s valet was to take care of him in a very personal way. I prepared his “sick menu” — Pepsi, Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and M&Ms — whenever he felt ill, which was often because he was a hypochondriac. I also made sure the maids took all the sex toys down to the basement after use and washed and sterilized them before returning the gadgets to the secret compartment above his bed.
On certain nights, Mr. Hefner had prostitutes brought up to the mansion and he would entertain them with a big dinner and invite his friends to come and participate in different intimate acts with them. It was called “Pig Night.” Sometimes the women had penises and Hefner didn’t want to be involved with that, although some of the other guests, especially John Belushi, they didn’t mind.
Hugh, most of the time, never had sex with women. He was more interested in watching. He would hire famous male porn stars, including John Holmes, with huge penises and watch them have sex with different girls he brought in. Hugh sat there in his favorite chair, smoking a joint and eating red licorice and watching. I had to go into the room afterwards and if the girls couldn’t walk, I would have to escort them to the bedrooms so they could recuperate. Hef sometimes gave bonuses to the women because the sex acts were so painful.
He always filmed the encounters. He had two large video cameras over his bed and he had these giant screens across from his bed. He had a whole library for these sex acts with different people and the video librarian told me Hef planned to use the footage against his associates if they ever threatened to come out with a memoir about him or the mansion.
For many people, the Playboy mansion was a safe haven from the paparazzi and private detectives. A married comedian came for years, bringing different girls to have sex with. I had to take many food trays into the room where he was with these girls.
There was always cocaine around, though Mr. Hefner didn’t partake, preferring weed (he would often have parties where he invited all the marijuana growers in California to the house).
The entire grounds were under surveillance. There were cameras everywhere and all the phones were bugged. The staff had to be very careful and the men weren’t allowed to speak to any of Hef’s girls or socialize with them. But if one of Hef’s bunnies was out by the swimming pool and requested a lobster or cheeseburger, you’d deliver it to her and put the tray between her legs and while she oiled her legs, you’d see all sorts of toys that were attached to her vaginal area. The girls loved to tease me. You also weren’t supposed to be married if you worked for Hef. It was one of the rules, which somehow he ignored for me since my wife also worked at the mansion as a greeter during parties.
Hef wasn’t a kind man. If he tasted the Pepsi and it wasn’t cold enough, he would throw it away and call me to replace it. I don’t know if he ever even knew my name. He would just call me “valet.” He was very brutal to his girlfriends and sex partners. He made sure they had breast implants. In those days, the implants were new and they would shift and burst and I witnessed many women who had this done begging and crying to Hef to help them and he would put them back in the hospital and then discard these women. He didn’t care. They were disposable.
I really didn’t feel anything when I heard Hef died. He started out as an innovator and was a very liberal guy. He was pro abortion, gay rights, marijuana. He was very ahead of his time and then when he moved from Chicago to Holmby Hills, he became just another dirty old rich man.
Overindulgence in anything can dull the senses. Too many naked, willing women is just as bad for a man, or worse, than not having a woman at all. Plato advised moderation in all things.
It seems as if Hefner’s libido was about as dead as his conscience, done in by too much money and too much sex . Those who can’t get it up, watch. Those who can get it up, do it.
Hefner’s voyeurism seems to have consumed his humanity, if he ever really had any. The glamorous, fun-loving Hefner his adoring fans saw was a fake persona. The real Hefner was “just another dirty old rich man.” The valet has opened the doors to the truth. So, world, let’s stop with the praise for a man who doesn’t deserve it.