Dear Princess Pale Horse,
I know you’re busy with the World Summit and all, but we got some Freaky Friday meets Weekend at Bernie’s shit going on right now. My body is currently locked in a spatial rift, so that’s problem number one. Problem number two: my body and soul have separated for some reason. (I suspect the rift only allows physical matter to pass through, so something metaphysical like one’s soul or consciousness would be pushed out. Will research later.) Problem number three: my soul can’t exist in the physical plane without a body, so it attached itself to a pony named Corn Cobbler. Problem number four: Corn Cobbler died last night.
So yeah, sad for him and all, but I’m stuck puppeteering a corpse until I can get my own body back. My only saving grace in this situation is the fact that Anon (blessed be his big, handsome brain) believed me when I explained what was going on. He realized the only other person who moves corpses around semi-regularly was missing, so my story made sense.
My initial plan was to wait it out until the spatial rift reopens, but I have no way of knowing exactly when that will happen since Cornhole here is a mule. Was a mule. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t have magic, so I’m pretty much humping the line between sanity and complete mental breakdown at the moment.
To top it all off, no one but Anon and myself know Corn Cobbler is dead, so I have to somehow convince people I’m him and not a reverse abortion. That’s going to be tough when my very existence is a slap in the face to God, not to mention the fact that my acting skills suck more dick than Shutterblush.
We’ll figure something out. Maybe. I just wanted to let you know what was happening in case you could sense the accidental necromancy.
Your undead mule,
Corncob Sparkle