Hey. Hey Buttery Smooth. Guess what?
"Ack," Butter Knife spat, "I'm in another story again, aren't I?"
DING DING DING! CORRECT!
The ultrafine, maximum-edge shankmuffin of an alicorn facehoofed in response.
"So, what sorta torture are you gonna run me through this time? I don't see any of the... acquaintences that you forced me to be with from last time, but I just know that you've got something up your sleeve."
Yes, in fact. Got your nose!
Fine. Here's your nose back. Anyway, let's see here... how will this thing begin... ah, I know!
"Please don't tell me you're gonna--"
Let's wrap you up in masking tape, dunk you into a spacious FedEx-branded flatrate box, wrap that up with some duct tape, toss in a few heads of lettuce, a couple Molotov cocktails, put it all into a giant replica of a VHS tape, put that inside a big ol' bucket of slime, and send you hurtling down into a post-apocalyptic Equestria!
Oh, that? It's a table leg, your new weapon of choice!
"Because I'm the author, and you, as my character, must do as I narrate!"
A giant bucket of slime containing many nested layers of other things (and a very pissed-off alicorn) landed in the middle of nowhere. From within, a muffled scream of frustration.