Dear "Gabby Gums", aka Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom,
Thank you. Thank you for lifting the veil of overbearing stiffness and demolishing the deified stature ponies have long held me to as a peak in standards.
Finally I get to see myself portrayed in a non-glamorous light thanks to you three, and whoever you hired as your photographer. Because hey, I love cake, and don't mind eating it without magic or letting things get messy. Everypony always assumed I ate my meals with a level of dignity, and I do for formal dinner parties with ponies I need to act proper for. But outside of those stuffy arrangements, I'm just like any other pony.
Except now I have a small problem. As is the case with all news, every noble in Canterlot misinterpreted that and decided to give me cake. Like, all the cake from the bakeries here, and I think some imported fruitcake I can use as a doorstop. I'm swimming in so much cake, frosting, and fruity filling I could hold a day-long cake festival in town where everypony is invited and I would STILL have enough pounds of sugar slices left over to feed all of Ponyville for a week.
Just because I like something doesn't mean I like being flooded with it until I can't get the smell of vanilla out of my nose, and as much as this feels like something I'm sure Pinkie would greatly appreciate, I don't when I can't even walk around my castle without having to eat my way through some of it.
There's cake on the walls, cake lining the halls, even upside-downs hanging from the roof like sweet disco balls. And it all has to be gone before the motherlode of ants comes for the feast of their tiny lifetimes. I can't eat it all by myself; my guards have already eaten more than their fill, and Luna's eaten so much she's bloated to the size of a fat watermelon. I'm in a similar predicament, but can't leave my bed. I think it's creaking under the weight.
Thus, in congratulations for your pinpoint-accurate coverage of my cake-eating habit, whatever cake we don't finish by today you'll get in a shipment tomorrow. It's the least I can do to reward such honest reporting, and who knows, it might be your next headline. "Tiny Reporters Get Their Just Desserts" sounds fantastic.
Sincerely,
Princess Celestia
Luna? Hang on, I'll open the door and--dear gods, you ate more?!
No, Luna, you need to get off this floor of the tower immediately. It wasn't designed to hold the weight of two elephants, let alone--
Did you hear that? That cracking sound. It's--oh no. Luna, hold onto your rolls. NO, not the sweet rolls, the fat ones! We're going down the express elevator.