The Harrowing Case of the Missing Fitness Guru

Rags-03-31-17-02

This Week’s Rags

It’s been raining all day. ‘Twas a good time to work on Rie Waits’ and my duet, which you’ll find at the end of this week’s entry.

I did the dreaded food-shopping after finishing the final mixing of our tune, but bought only enough items for a week or two, instead of for the entire month, like I’ve done habitually in the past.

Being able to carry all the groceries up two flights of stairs in one trip from the car was a joy, instead of the usual three jaunts.

The only bummer is I’ll have to do it again in a couple of weeks; but that’s OK as long as I keep it light. Being an incorrigible procrastinator makes life difficult at times, like pushing off my income taxes.

The deadline for filing is drawing near, as April Fool’s Day is tomorrow. We’ve got an extra three days to push it off, if need be. The last minute for postmarking one’s return is midnight on April 18th.

Why the extra time, you might be asking? The regular filing deadline is April 15. However, due to the 15th’s being on a Saturday, and the Washington D.C. Emancipation Day holiday’s being observed on April 17, instead of its designated day on April 16—which falls on Easter Sunday this year—Tax Day is officially on the following Tuesday, the 18th. Got all that?

Think I’ll take time out during next week to do the dirty work. All the anxiety of waiting until absolutely the last minute is not worth it, like for my dilly-dallying to do the dastardly food-shopping.

At the checkout counter while waiting for the cashier to finish her grocery tallying of the woman in front of me, I skimmed over the weekly rags as seen in the photo at the beginning of this rant. I was tempted to buy the People magazine to see what happened to Richard Simmons, but decided against it.

Same thing happened for the National Enquirer, to read what hogwash they had to say about Trump’s discovery of a Russian mole in the White House. The only mole that’s there, in my humble opinion, is the one on Steve Bannon’s forehead; but enough of that. Lent’s not over with, and my having given up politics for the duration hasn’t expired yet.

Is that a mortal or venial sin for falling off the Lenten wagon?

After putting away the groceries, I still wondered about what had happened to the allegedly missing Richard Simmons, who had not been seen in public since February 2014. Doing a little research on the Net, this curious sleuth and cheapskate found out the poop without having to purchase one of the weekly rags.

Social Media, of course, has come up with conspiracy theories like being imprisoned against his own will by three individuals: Simmon’s brother,  manager, and live-in housekeeper.

Reports of the fitness guru’s being transported to a hospital last year for bizarre behavior were included in the Web’s speculation of malaise on behalf of Simmons, accounting for his disappearance from view. That’s nothing new. He’s been bizarre ever since I first saw him on TV.

Last March, the “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” mogul had called into the Today Show and spoke with Savannah Guthrie, telling her that he was OK; no one was holding him hostage, and he wanted just to be left alone, out of the limelight for a while. Think he had been channeling Greta Garbo?

Simmons did mention one of his knees was injured, and the other started to bother him from all the years of teaching his fitness classes; and he was simply taking it easy to care for himself.

Time passed and last November, his signature Beverly Hills gym, Slimmons, which opened in 1974, closed without any explanation other than Simmons’ thanking his clientele through a spokesperson, fueling even more conspiracy theories.

Recently, Simmons’ former massage therapist and assistant, Mauro Oliveira, made a hostage claim on Entertainment Tonight, during which he said Simmons had stopped talking to old friends, prompting the LAPD to pay the fitness guru a welfare visit.

According to The Huffington Post, a detective named Kevin Baker made the visit and called the hostage allegation, “garbage.” The online news aggregator went on to say Baker told People:

None of it is true. The fact of the matter is, we went out and talked to him; he is fine; nobody is holding him hostage. He is doing exactly what he wants to do. If he wants to go out in public or see anybody, he will do that. He is perfectly fine and he is very happy. I don’t know what he is going to do, but right now he is doing what he wants to do and it is his business.

Huffington’s article stated, “Simmons’ longtime representative, Tom Estey, had already insisted that Simmons merely wanted a break from public life.”

This seems to me like a classic case of depression. All’s well that ends well, although I think there will be more to this story in the future.

So much for celebrity gossip and rag magazines. Thanks for stopping by and for your continued support. As mentioned previously, allow me to share Rie’s and my latest duet. It’s a lollapalooza:

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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