Spirit In The Sky

No, he insisted. She was real. Real as the flowers in that vase. Real as the table!

But they didn't understand. They thought him mad. Mad as a hatter. Mad as a tutti frutti fruitcake. Clearly, she was a figment of his feeble imagination.

He would spend the rest of the afternoon protesting, exclaiming his love had been summoned forth with the swami's ouija board during that fateful séance. But he only sounded foolish to them.