Sundays are good days. Sundays are days

Sundays are good days. Sundays are days that you have to hang out with your family. You can go to church, eat together, play games and visit. On my Sundays, I like to get into my

they should have found me by now. I yell, "Ollie-Ollie Oken Free! I give up!" The kids should have heard that. The car starts to move. Note to self: Trunk, bad hiding place.

As the car backed out of what I presumed to be my drive-way I wondered in my contorted state who could be driving it since my wife wasn't due back from yoga for a good hour.

This is the problem with out-of-body experiences. I flew past the moving car and saw myself at the wheel. Great. I tried to send my wife a telepathic message during her yoga class.

Something in the Astral planes glitches the can and I was connected to the boathouse on the River Styx. Is was answered by the nephew of Charon, The Ferryman. His name was Pyspt.

Pyspt and I carried the wounded solider off to ArchAngel Michael, who defended us in battle, so the positivity could continue. The dual-meanings rode on shiny white horses with

Dualistic riders holding the reins. Psypt and I collected pine cones for the centerpiece on Mabon. The blue spruce was almost hidden by flowers. The effect was utterly transforming

to everyone on Earth, but up in Heaven it caused an uproar when the heavenly hosts saw it and thought that the four horsemen of the apocalypse had been let out prematurely. Oops!

The Gods were furious. Nothing of this caliber had been done in thousands of years. It would not be re-created. Not today, nor anytime in the near future. Destruction rained.