rating: +66+x

Item #: SCP-SPC

Outrage Class: Appleyawn1

Steps for Crisis Prevention: I am literally shaking right now. I cannot stress this enough: moving forward, if anything nice2 — happens to the soulless monsters who run SCP-SPC, I'm going to have a stroke. I mean it. I'll have a stroke, I'll die, that's it. Boom. Nervous breakdown, stroke, dead. So unless you actively want me to be murdered by how horrible it is, you need to do something about SCP-SPC right now.

Yeah, well, you know what ELSE is manipulative, Linda?! This apparent fixation you have with me getting a stroke! Maybe I should just put it on blast, huh? Ahem: LINDA MASTERSON GETS A BIZARRE SEXUAL RUSH FROM SEEING HER NEIGHBORS NOT GET ANY OXYGEN IN THEIR BRAIN BECAUSE OF HOW MISERABLE THEY ARE! Oh, no, don't give me that look, it's clearly something you take pride in.

…anyway, if you see something SCP-SPC-related somewhere out on the street or something, just take it to the nearest Society for Concerned Parents outpost and… put it in a… box?? I guess?? Whatever, I'm done.

Description: SCP-SPC is supposedly this organization called the "Shark Punching Center" that I heard about the other day. Anyone with one-and-a-half brain cells to rub together can make out its true intentions. But, since a certain Mrs. Masterson is with us, I see that we'll have to make a more thorough guide for the easily-deceived:

"Shark" = "Baby Shark"3 song = things children like = Children.

"Punching" = that Japanimation or whatever cartoon my horrid little nephew Craighden likes = scantily-clad cartoon women = S-E-X = Human Trafficking.

"Center" = highest central authority = government secrets = vaccines = Bill Gates = Tom Hanks = Deep State.

If you're reading this, and you haven't dropped whatever you're doing to fight the Deep State "Shark Punchers", then you're a sick individual and I'm already in the process of having you committed. And don't think I won't do it, either! I'm one signature away from becoming the legal guardian of half of you complete bastards!4 I want nothing to do with you.

Here, I have a list of the harm SCP-SPC has caused - in plain sight, no less - from my gardener who says he's on a first-name basis with Q. Bear in mind the coded language - if you went to my seminar, you'll know. I'm not going over it again just for you.

Especially noteworthy is SPC-169-J - they ADMIT that they're attempting to seduce a 4,000-kilometer-long sea monster baby. Not even the laws of physics will stop these hopelessly sick-minded individuals from getting their perverted gratification.


Potential Victim: SPC-169-J

Date: 9/2/2020

Location: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, South Atlantic Ocean

Provided tools: 3 megaphones, 1 capsule of Holistic Sea Monster Protection Medicine (Special thanks to the Dah-do corporation!5), HMS Potluck-at-Sea (Special thanks to Edgebrook Yacht Club!)

<Begin log>
Maureen W.: You sure this is the place?

Kevin M.: Of course I am.

Hilda N.: Because if the victim's not under us right now I'm gonna be so. Fucking. Angry.

Maureen W.: Hilda! Language!

Hilda N.: (single shriek that lasts 34 seconds, followed by incoherent sobbing)

Maureen W.: Good point. I apologize.

(Low, rumbling sound from under the waves)

Kevin M.: Goddamn it, Linda, you wanna argue now?! Of all times?

Maureen W.: Pretty sure we threw Linda overboard at—

Kevin M.: Sure, by all means, correct the shit out of me.

(Low, rumbling sound, again)


Hilda N.: It's the victim!

Maureen W.: Okay, all right, this is happening, uh… places, people!

(Maureen continues through a megaphone)

Maureen W.: Hey, SPC-169-J? Can you hear me, Kayleigh?

Hilda N.: That's not her name.

Maureen W.: Kayleigh, I'm so sorry that people are lying about your name.

Kevin M.: Focus, Reen.

Hilda N: It's Skye. We agreed to call her Skye.

Maureen W.: Kayleigh, baby, listen: we're here to protect you from Bill Gates. You may not know who he is, but he's a very mean deep state person here to "punch" you, which means not actually punch you. But we're not gonna let him hurt you. Hilda, give her the medicine!

Hilda N.: Here you go, Skye.

(Hilda drops the holistic protection capsule into the ocean. Ten seconds later, a two-meter-long wooden rod is thrown onto the boat from the water level by a mysterious force.)

Kevin M.: Stick! Call the police!

(Maureen picks up the rod, reading an inscription on the side: "holi stick of awaken see monster by dado - hit a thing to use yes")


Maureen W.: Not a chance, Hilda! Not when we're so close!

(She strikes the rod against the guardrail. An otherworldly clanging sound resonates through the hollow rod, striking an unseen psychic chord with all the creatures of the deep, and for a merciful few seconds, the oceans are silent, as if to solemnly acknowledge what inevitably is to come)

Kevin M.: Do that again and I'm telling the Yacht Club you're trying to sabotage the paint job.

<UNKNOWN>: These the wankers you was talkin' 'bout, Linda darlin'?

Hilda N.: Explosive diarrhea!

<UNKNOWN>: Get fucked, Yanks.

(Catastrophic marine seismic event, recording equipment is destroyed)

<End log>

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