SCP-41-D3N73-J
rating: +47+x

Item #: SCP-41-D3N73-J

Object Class: worst

Special Containment Procedures: I…I don't know. Seriously, just…whatever. They're in a room, they're not hurting anyone. I guess if one of them gets sassy just boil it in water and be done with it. For real. I had them install a stove and sink in the room just for that because there's no oversight in this department. Also, you're not supposed to eat them, but if you want to live life on the edge I'm not going to stop you.

Description: SCP-41-D3N73-J is a shelf of sapient boxes of pasta, all unfortunately capable of speech. There's linguine, capellini, mostaccioli, penne…probably spaghetti and angel hair too, I dunno. I got bored of listening to them and gave up checking each box. They all speak English in a frankly offensive and exaggerated Italian accent. It's pretty insulting, especially when you consider my parents were Italian immigrants. Yeah, thanks for assigning this one to me, knowing that my mom died 4 months ago. Really cool.

SCP-41-D3N73-J instances are not capable of movement, and mostly spend their time arguing with each other in their Looney Toons-esque vernacular, which usually lacks any semblance of sense, continuity, or just general logic. I did some science and the result is that SCP-41-D3N73 is the dumbest goddam thing we've ever contained. See the interview below. Tried to make the language as accurate as possible so the insensitivity really shines through.

Interview 41-D3-whatever

Me: Hello, I am Dr. Fattore. May I ask you a few questions?

SCP-41-D3N73-J(a single box of rigatoni): Oh ma goodness! Of a coursa you may!

Me: Jesus. Yeah, okay…what is your earliest memory?

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Letta me think about that one! I think it wasa when my mama made a me a big ol' spicy meatball!

Me:

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Ora maybe it a was whena my papa firsta broughta me to church. I wasa very young boy anda I hada just turned a 3 yearsa old, and hada eat my first cannoli.

Me: Okay. Okay. So, I'm just going to rephrase the question a bit.

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Soundsa gooda!

Me: Stop. Just. Stop. Stop it.

SCP-41-D3N73-J: I'ma no doing anything!

Me: Why do you choose to be this way?

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Whata you mean?

Me: Do you have free will?

SCP-41-D3N73-J: I…I…a…I don'ta…don't really know.

Me: Your accent is dropping.

SCP-41-D3N73-J: I…don't…don'ta know whatta you talking about?

Me: Did you care at all when I boiled your neighbor? Do you miss Rotini at all?

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Mya mama used a to make a rotini sometimes…

Me: No. No, the box of rotini that was next to you. The one you used to have conversations with about Venice constantly. The one who wouldn't answer any of my questions and kept blathering about Mussolini so I emptied his contents into a pot of boiling water, and now he doesn't seem to talka so gooda anymore.

SCP-41-D3N73-J: …I'ma having an existential-a crisis!

Me: Sometimes I have a hard time with the notion that I'm ostensibly being paid $78 an hour to have conversations with things like you.

SCP-41-D3N73: I knowa whata you mean! It'sa like whena da pasta no come out al dente!

Me: …Oh goddammit, that's why…that's why they designated you 41-D(angry Joe Pesci-style mumbling)…unbelievable. Some idiot probably thought that was hilarious. This place is run by (even pescier mumbling)

SCP-41-D3N73-J: Mama mia!

sound of a box of pasta hitting a concrete wall

the pesciest of mumbling can be faintly heard

Addendum-1: So, um, I know I probably shouldn't be writing anything here, or touching anything, but one of the boxes of pasta fell on the floor and was screaming in broken Italian, and Dr. Fattore wasn't in his office, just a crude dummy he put together to make it look like he was asleep at his laptop. So I put the pasta box back on the shelf and it's just whimpering now about the trains running on time. Please don't fire me. - Ardy from Southeast Custodial Professionals.

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