The man behind the desk watched as the cosmic horror before him paced back and forth, ranting what could only be described as its head off. "I am the ultimate hive mind. My influence is everywhere, though you normally cannot feel it. I am He Who Waits Behind the Wall. When I break through those tiny cracks in your reality, I am the very personification of decay and destruction. Black ooze, great tentacles, blood flowing from your eyes. My six mouths are ever screaming, and the seventh one shall sing the song that ends the world. My very gaze is enough to drive men to madness." It moved in closer, and made several dramatic motions with its tentacular appendages.
"No force can match mine. When I deem your world to be over, it shall come to an end. My power goes far beyond that of any other being you can think of." It worked its mass into the small wooden chair, and glared at the man. "I am decay, and I am destruction. I am Zalgo, and I am coming."
Multiple tentacles slammed into the desk. "So why can't I be an SCP?"
The director of the SCP Foundation showed no shock towards the black, amorphous monstrosity that sat before him. The piercing red light from the pinpoints deep in the dark mass did not phase him. Instead, they merely reflected off his glasses and his balding head as he looked down at his desk.
"Look," he began, riffling through a sheet of papers, "this is your fifth time attempting to apply for SCP status. I don't know how many times I've said this to you, so listen up. This is the final time. We do not have any interest in taking you in. You just don't work."
"Did you not hear me?" demanded Zalgo, growing in size rapidly. "I am the ultimate hive mind, and…"
"Yes, yes, we've been through this before. You are the ultimate force of destruction, and can end the world, and all those other qualifications you're always on about. There's no need to repeat them again. Now, I'm not saying I encourage it, but why don't you just go and do something dangerous, if you want in so badly?"
"'Do something dangerous?' My work over the past few years has been beyond dangerous. I have driven countless innocent children to madness, caused suicides all over this world, and bled into anywhere I can fit, and you ask me to do something dangerous?" The black mass rose up, drawing on its awesome power.
"Zalgo," stated the director flatly. "You find web comics, and you corrupt them."
The abomination from beyond the stars stared blankly at the director, then sank back into his chair, looking defeated. "Why do you want to be an SCP, anyways?"
"Well," sighed Zalgo though one of the non-screaming mouths, "that bloody Slender Man's been spreading his image around for quite some time now. Getting people talking about what he does, placing himself in photographs, inspiring stories, the usual affair. He's even got his own web series now! Can you believe that?"
"Yes," said the director warily, cocking his head to the side, "but what does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm new to the eldritch abomination thing, and need some publicity. The whole thing with the web comics is a start, but it's easy for people to use my methods and never mention my name, and let me tell you, that's a big mark against me. You lot take me in, and I'm a big name. Not as big as Yog-Sothoth or Azathoth, but big enough to get some recognition. So, how about it?"
An awkward silence settled over the room as the director took of his glasses and wiped them off with one hand, while holding his forehead with the other, deep in thought. Zalgo shifted nervously in his chair, awaiting the director's answer. At length, the director placed his glasses aside, and began speaking.
"Barring the fact that I refuse to participate in some weird contest of abominations, there's one big reason as to why we can't take you in. It's not a matter of money or difficulty of containment, oh no. We've got SCPs like 682, and it's pocket change to keep it locked up, even when it breaks out. And since you seem willing to cooperate with us, you'd be easy as pie to contain, as well. No, it's that you're just not interesting enough."
Zalgo seemed to boil with fury at this statement, and opened several mouths to make a retort, but the director held him off. "Allow me to explain. You are bursting with power, and have the capacity to end this world with a thought. That's all well and good for other organizations. But here at the SCP Foundation, we can't just accept you on those criteria. It's far too much. You're overpowered, you don't have a hook, and quite frankly, you're boring. When you get down to it, you just don't fit in with our image."
For a moment, it looked as if Zalgo was ready to end the director, right then and there. A few tense moments passed, the seconds ticking away as slowly as they could, before his shoulders sank, and the black mass sighed, "Alright, alright. You win. I'll just see myself out."
As the chair scraped across the floor, the director said, "Try Warehouse 13, or maybe the Chaos Insurgency. I'm sure they'll be a little more lenient than we are." Zalgo gave a grunt of thanks, and was gone, having melted into the walls. The director allowed himself a few moments of peace, before calling out, "Next!" and preparing himself for the next sob story.
A colossal green man with a squishy head and long, wavy beard of tentacles squeezed his way into the office, and stuffed himself into the chair. Riffling through a few more papers, the director looked up and stated, "Thank you for joining me today, Mr…?"