Ok, so it was probably my fault. But still, who’da thought that witch woulda been capable of this. I make one stupid joke too many – something about her mole – and next thing you know my soul is trapped in this stupid stuffed penguin. And the penguin is on Robert’s desk. Robert! Not even Robert wants to be near Robert’s desk. Don’t even know where my body is. Can’t move, can’t eat or drink, can’t fart…stuck trying to figure out how to communicate with Robert. Robert! Oh, I don’t know what’s up with the paper clips, either. Freakin’ Robert.
This post is for Friday Fictioneers, only I missed the deadline so it’s just me writing a story for me. I blame Robert, myself.