One of the most gorgeous and sexiest and talented women alive … is now dead.
Raquel Welch never wore my panties, and I never wore hers. But hopefully, in the afterlife, we can enjoy each other, whenever I get there. Raquel is there now giving all the gods and goddesses a boner or a clitor [my word, just made it up, you’re welcome ladies.]
She shall not be one of the 72 virgins reserved for insane people who never got any on Earth so they hope to “git some” in heaven or hell or wherever they go.
She shall not be playing a harp and wearing fake little baby wings and floating on clouds. She shall wear lingerie showing off that smoking hot bod and making all the nuns say “Damn! Why was I celibate? I spent my whole life missing out on that? Thanks, God, you asshole!”
She shall be the hostess with the mostess, emcee of all the cool parties, dancer, singer, actress writhing like a snake on stage while perverts in the front row tuck $100 bills into her g-string!
She shall receive free palaces and bitchin’ Camaros and nothing but the best seats to all the movies and rock concerts … and she shall never have to wait for the buffet to clear before she gets a chance to pile her plate full of caviar and dodo’s eggs …
She shall never have to listen to religious or political leaders ever again. That alone is worth the price of admission to Raquel’s heaven.
Ah, Raquel … what more is there to say? You were beautiful when young and older, and most women couldn’t kiss the hem of your bustier. Fingers crossed, when I get there …
… but for now, I will leave her with a final word, a kiss …
