Item #: SCP-7527

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Due to its nature, direct containment of SCP-7527 is impossible. However, public knowledge of SCP-7527 has been growing exponentially by non-anomalous means since 2017, and continued exposure carries a risk of an LK-class "Lifted Veil" scenario, at minimum.

As such, Foundation webcrawlers are to suppress as much information online about SCP-7527-A as possible, particularly among conservative communities on social media. Journalism pertaining to SCP-7527-A is to be discreetly intercepted and removed.

All seven instances of SCP-7527-B are kept in a standard containment locker at Site-59. Viewing SCP-7527-B for research purposes may only be done by employees with a score of 50 or higher on the Naismith Memetic Resistance test. Upon discovery, additional instances of SCP-7527-B are to be reclaimed and contained in the same manner.

Due to the circumstances of SCP-7527-B's recovery, research is ongoing into the level of threat posed by SCP-7527-A.

Description: SCP-7527-A is Sylvester "Slimmy" Kincaid (Hereafter SCP-7527-A), an American film actor who allegedly starred in 489 motion pictures from 1935 until his death in 1978.

No birth certificate, death certificate, or other civilian documentation have been found for SCP-7527-A. All studios responsible for his films have been unable to locate evidence that SCP-7527-A was ever an employee, or that production was even attempted on any of his films. For all legal intents and purposes, SCP-7527-A never existed.

There are currently only two forms of evidence for SCP-7527-A's existence:

18 people who claimed to have worked with SCP-7527-A. Only three of them are still alive at the time of writing: Clint Eastwood, Malcolm McDowell1, and Mel Brooks2. Eastwood3 is the only one among these three who expressed any positive opinion of Kincaid. However, all expressed ignorance of more specific details about SCP-7527-A.

7 instances of SCP-7527-B, VHS videocassettes of the following films starring SCP-7527-A:

Horse!

Everyone In Montana Is Now Mrs. Kincaid

Nope, That's Not How You Do It

I Ain't Your Tovarisch

What Does a Prairie Dog Deserve?

A Full Colorado Breakfast

What Happens To People Who Don't Like Beer

SCP-7527-A appears exclusively in Westerns and plays either the leading man or a mentor figure. During these films, SCP-7527-A's character is unquestionably beloved by all characters except antagonists, never receives lasting physical damage, and goes through no character development.

He also exhibits anomalous strength and reality-warping abilities, but these powers are portrayed as something mundane that his character has always been capable of doing. As such, level of special effects is often incongruent with those available during the year of production shown in the film credits.

These films usually contain heavy-handed moral messages conveyed through SCP-7527-A's character. These messages are often bizarre and transgressive compared to films from the time of produciton; for example, Everyone In Montana Is Now Mrs. Kincaid is about SCP-7527-A's character violently coercing every individual being in Montana to marry him, including corpses, livestock, wildlife, plants, buildings, land, artworks, fictional characters, furniture, clouds, and concepts.

Reactions to these messages from other characters are universally positive by the end of the film, either through character development, subjugation, or eradication.

SCP-7527-A's anomalous effects manifest when the name "Slimmy Kincaid" is heard or viewed by a human subject, who will then be compelled to aggressively defend the career, lifestyle, works, and values of SCP-7527-A - regardless of whether or not the subject knows of SCP-7527-A's existence.

This does not always happen with a human subject, but the chances of a manifestation event can increase if the subject has heard the name before, expresses conservative political beliefs, or is a fan/participant of romance and action films set in the American West and/or South.

Example 1

Example 2

Testing Log: SCP-7527-A/42

Date: 7/15/2023

Interviewer: Dr. Maria Gant

Interviewed: D-57159

<Begin Log>

Gant: Good afternoon, D-57159. This will just take a few minutes.

D-57159: Bullshit, but okay.

Gant: I'm going to read out some words, and you're going to tell me the word you associate with them.

D-57159: Is this a prank?

Gant: "Jumprope."

D-57159: Because this sounds like a prank.

(Gant stares in silence at D-57159 for five seconds.)

Gant: "Jumprope."

D-57159: Fine. "Playground."

Gant: "Dog."

D-57159: "Woof."

Gant: "Democrat."

D-57159: "Pussy."

Gant: "America."

D-57159: "Freedom."

Gant: "Slim."

D-57159: "Thin."

Gant: "Slimmy."

D-57159: …"Thinny?"

Gant: "Kincaid."

D-57159: "Someone's last name?"

Gant: "Mr. Slim Kincaid."

D-57159: Uh, "Word game that doesn't make sense."

Gant: "Slimmy Kincai-"

D-57159 suddenly stands up, slamming the table with both hands.

D-57159: Get his fucking name out of your mouth, bitch! You DO NOT get to cancel the last great artist of the silver screen! If there were more actors like him in Hollywood, maybe American culture wouldn't be choking on its own goddamn feces!

Gant: "Potato."

D-57159: No, YOU'RE a potato!

Gant: No, I mean the word you associate with "potato."

D-57159: "Meat and!"

Gant: "Windmill."

D-57159: "Dutch."

Gant: "Apple."

D-57159: "Pie."

(D-57159's eyes widen. He slowly sits down. His anger turns to bewilderment.)

Gant: "Hat."

D-57159: Um, "Fedora."

Gant: "Parrot."

D-57159: "Iago." - Hey, quick question.

Gant: Yes?

D-57159: Was I yelling a few seconds ago?

Gant: Yes. Remind me, what were you yelling about?

(He rubs his forehead, trying to figure it out.)

D-57159: Fuck if I know.

<End Log>

Testing Log: SCP-7527-A/13

Date: 10/02/1989

Interviewer: Dr. Howard Niederman

Interviewed: Wonga Philip Harris4

<Begin Log>

Harris: Well, hello there. I take it you're here to interrogate me?

Niederman: Not at all. We'd just like to ask you a few questions.

Harris: To be fair, this is the first interview I've had in a room flanked by armed guards. It ain't too strange that I'd be apprehensive.

Niederman: I suppose not. Does this mean you won't cooperate?

Harris: I never said that. Just don't expect any nuclear codes from me. (Chuckles.)

Niederman: This concerns what you were filming in the spring of 1965. Do you remember?

Harris: Sounds like this coulda gone through my agent, but… what in particular?

Niederman: What Does A Prairie Dog Deserve?

Harris: Oh, um, okay, this took a hard turn. Let's see… don't think I've ever met a prairie dog in person, but I'd assume they deserve the same respect as any other -

Niederman: That was the title of the film we'd like to discuss.

(Harris leans back in his chair, thinking intensely.)

Harris: Sounds familiar, but the memories are cloudy. Who else was in it?

Niederman: You were playing a villainous animal rights activist opposite to Slimmy Kincaid.

(Harris slowly leans forward. His face grows redder as he glares at Niederman.)

I take it you remember now?

Harris: Just so ya know, whatever heat those guards are packin', you're about five syllables away from bein' internationally known as "the man who got the shit kicked out of him by Baloo the Bear."

Niederman: I was not making a judgment of Mr. Kincaid.

(Pacified, Harris slumps back in his chair again.)

Harris: …guess you weren't. Sorry about that.

Niederman: Quite all right. We've been learning that it's a touchy subject for many people, but we'd like to know more about the man himself.

(Harris is silent for approximately ten seconds, staring at the ceiling.)

Harris: What really stuck out for me wasn't the movie. It was him. The look in his eyes, both dead and alive at the same time. The screen couldn't capture it, but it was like coals. Figure if I ever touched his eyeball, it would've been rigid. You could've broken a bottle on it and he'd only be irritated. But you couldn't irritate someone like Slimmy, not without him takin' something in return.

Niederman: I don't follow.

Harris: Oh, you will. There ain't a choice but to follow him. You'd understand if he ever went into your trailer and told you the real bare necessities. Like with me. He looked me dead in the eyes, told me…

"Phil, your body is skin upon adipose upon sinew, coarsely wrapping a bouquet of carefully arranged treasures - but what is the force that makes it move? Speak? Eat? Drink? You move forward with your life because it's the only thing your unconquered meat understands. You are an empty vessel, begging to be stained crimson. Individualism is the leprosy of the spirit. When you stop pushing back against dominance, you will understand that to be hurt is to be crowned god-king of all that is below you."

(Harris stands up, raising both fists.)

"Eat a snake," he said!

"Why?!" said I!

"I care not," said he! "There can be no justification for anything done by your kind, there can only be the binary of accomplishment and being accomplished upon! You will no longer be revolting for anyone but I!"

But no, I did not have a snake! So I made one. I made one! I pulled several costumes from the back of my trailer, tore them to insignificant shreds, braided a grotesque serpentine produberance from them forthwith, and by the screaming and pleading Nazarene's impalement upon Golgotha to an audience of uncaring aeons, I drew cute little snakey eyeballs on the tip and made it a snakely effigy! I forced it thus down my throat! Gagging! Choking! Vomiting! Rotting at the bid of the eternal emperor of my orgasmic fuck-nightmares, never let it stop, never let it -

(At this point, due to his advanced age and heart conditions, security sedated Harris via a tranquilizer pistol. He was issued amnestics and released later that day.)

<End Log>

Addendum 1 - SCP-7527-B: All contained instances of SCP-7527-B were recovered from the basement of Hallingdans Manor, a farm in Rockford, IL that had been converted into a compound for the Children of the Scarlet King. On September 17th, 1988, due to infighting plaguing the organization's Great Lakes region, rival factions within the compound entered a five-day shootout, reducing the onsite population by 87%. As such, the Foundation was able to raid the compound without incident.

SCP-7527-B-1 through -7 were initially believed to be mundane entertainment for the residents, analysis of the credits for every film indicate that the Children of the Scarlet King were at least partially involved with production. There were at least 158 additional videocassettes onsite, but they had been destroyed by fire. A partially destroyed mail-order catalog onsite named at least 482 additional SCP-7527-B films, listing them as "long-form values pieces to help spread the word."

Addendum 2 - Excerpts from SCP-7527-B:

SCP-7527-B-1

SCP-7527-B-4

SCP-7527-B-7

Film Name: Horse!

Co-Stars: Malcolm McDowell (Deputy Paul Hatcher), Cloris Leachman (Sister Mary Bloodcow)

<Begin Log>

(Sheriff Kincaid and Deputy Hatcher rush to the edge of a cliff on their horses. The horses stop when they notice the cliff.)

(There's a dramatic orchestra sting. A passenger train has been derailed. Some of the cars are on fire.)

Hatcher: Dammit!

(Kincaid nods stoically.)

Kincaid: That's a dammit-able sight if ever I seen one.

Hatcher: We were too late! Think of all the people who died…

Kincaid: A man thinks about what he damn well pleases. It's plenty disgustin', though. Them wheels are built for bein' on rails. Here they are, failin' their one duty.

(He lights two cigarettes at once.)

Someone oughta hurt them wheels.

Hatcher: No, it's my fault.

Kincaid: What in Sam Hill are you —

Hatcher: No, really! We could have caught up with those train robbers if I weren't taking my sweet time. I slowed us both down.

Kincaid: Well, lemme ask you a question.

Hatcher: Yes, I'd like to turn in my —

Kincaid: Naw, naw, not that. And no, you may not.

Hatcher: Then what's the question?

Kincaid: Was it you movin' them legs? Was it you with the hooves, eatin' too much hay, makin' my be-hind awful uncomfortable?

(He dismounts.)

Hatcher: Well, a good rider makes a good horse, and —

(Kincaid scruffs his own horse by the neck. He sticks his tongue in the horse's ear. The horse suddenly starts screaming and flailing. Additional tongues slither out from the nostrils and the other ear. He sucks his tongue back in, causing blood and unidentifiable bits of gore to spew from the ear. The horse falls down, dead.)

Kincaid: I win.

(Hatcher stares at Kincaid, open-mouthed.)

Hatcher: …what was that?

Kincaid: It's self-explanatory. If a horse can't do its horse jobs correctly, it don't deserve to be a horse. So I unhorsed it.

Hatcher: With your tongue?

Kincaid: Is that gonna be a problem, son?

Hatcher: I mean…

Kincaid: You're takin' too long to answer. Apologize with your body.

(Hatcher's left hand falls off. SFX: Wilhelm scream. He falls off his horse.)

(Kincaid picks up his amputated hand and starts sucking the the skin off the fingers.)

Hatcher: I will never hurt you again, Sheriff.

Kincaid: Not bad, not bad. Bark like a dog.

Hatcher: Woof, woof, woof, woof.

Kincaid: Hot damn, it's good to have your flesh as my property! Now, eat your horse, son.

Hatcher: Woof, woof. C'mere, hossie…

<End Log>

Film Name: I Ain't Your Tovarisch

Co-Stars: Christopher Lee (Tsar Nicholas II of Russia), David Carradine (Vladimir Lenin)

<Begin Log>

Nicholas: 2,000 Bolsheviks?! In one day?!

Kincaid: I mean, it ain't like I killed 'em all at the same time, but… I'd say more like 2,100.

Nicholas: I knew it was the right move to add a genuine Texas ranger to my secret police.

Kincaid: Mighty kind of you, tsar-a-mazoo. Mind if I smoke?

Nicholas: Apologies, but this chamber of my place is smoke-free.

(Kincaid lights a cigarette anyway.)

…though, considering your heroism, I suppose I could make an exception.

Kincaid: See? Y'all piggies learn quickly when the farmer gets out the shotty.

Nicholas: I wish to settle my debt with you for yesterday's battle. Name any prize within my power, and I shall grant it forthwith!

Kincaid: Well, now…

(He sits back, laying his feet on the Tsar's desk.)

I don't need much for myself, but I reckon your government could stand to make a few changes around here.

Nicholas: Surely, you're not one of the —

Kincaid: Naw, I ain't no commie. …are you?

Nicholas: Whatever do you mean?

Kincaid: What's the caste system around these parts? Who are the squishies?

Nicholas: Squishies?

Kincaid: Are you serious? You don't know what the squishies are? Did your momma drop you on the head or somethin', boy?

Nicholas: I admire you too much to be even slightly offended by that. Who are these squishniks?

Kincaid: Listen, son. I don't care what country you're in, whether it's America or non-America. But in any society, a man has certain needs he has to fulfill in order to keep himself at peace. If you can't meet those needs, you can't claim to be truly free, even from that throne of yours.

Nicholas: The need to squish?

Kincaid: So, here's whatcha do. Gather up all the lower classes in St. Petersburg. Test 'em all, one by one, by askin' em to lift two sledgehammers at once. If they can, they pass.

Nicholas: And if they can't?

Kincaid: Then brand 'em "squishies" and force 'em to live out the rest of their lives squished into a two-foot steel cube with one hole to force-feed 'em.

Nicholas: That idea is certainly interesting.

Kincaid: I get the feelin' from your tone that you're thinkin' you have a choice. You asked me to name my prize, and I named it: give your Empire the nasty medicine it needs — then not only will all your revolution worries be over, you'll also be free to build as many people-igloos as you want.

Nicholas: Very well. Would you like anything else?

Kincaid: As a matter of fact, I would. You gotta have another son.

Nicholas: You're in luck. I was hoping to do so anyway.

Kincaid: Good, because that last one tasted awful.

(Slowly-building string music.)

(Nicholas rises from his chair.)

Nicholas: I don't believe I understand.

Kincaid: What ain't there to understand? I unhinged my gotdang jaw, shoved li'l Alex in, chewed him up, and sent a Jim Beam chaser down after him.

Nicholas: You… ate my son?

Kincaid: Somethin' tells me you didn't think this through, pardner. From the second they're born, each and every person on the planet owes me a li'l somethin' that I can unmake for my amusement. Shouldn't have signed that check if you can't cash it.

(Nicholas stares at the desk, thinking desperately. He breaks into a cold sweat.)

What'll it be, comrade?

Nicholas: …how many sons would you like?

Kincaid: Well, let's not paddle up the rio loco just yet. Let's start with five and work our way up.

<End Log>

Film Name: What Happens To People Who Don't Like Beer

Co-Stars: John Wayne (Himself), Joe Don Baker (Himself), Roy Rogers (God)

<Begin Log>

(Kincaid sits in the middle of a saloon that's currently on fire. He's holding an empty glass beer mug. Screaming from the next room can be heard.)

(Wayne, who is engulfed by flames but displays no signs of pain, steps behind the bar.)

Kincaid: So? Whatcha think?

(Wayne gives a thumbs-up.)

Wayne: Mighty sorry I ever doubted you, master.

(The hand giving the thumbs-up, having been charred beyond recognition, breaks off the wrist.)

(Wayne screeches. A jet of reddish-brown fluid with the texture of motor oil shoots out of his throat and into an empty beer mug. His body collapses behind the bar.)

(Kincaid sips his mug. Leaning over the bar to Wayne's corpse, he points at a row of seven empty mugs.)

Kincaid: While you're at it, I'mma need seven more for the missuses.

(He turns to face the camera.)

Now, this here's the end of the picture, which means I now give you permission to look at something else. Y'all have five seconds to thank me.

(He winks.)

<End Log>

Footnotes

1. "Ugh, don't remind me. Whenever Slimmy made direct eye contact with me, I always got this feeling that I just shit my pants in Church."

2. "I still don't understand how that bozo made it past my casting director. I gave him one line: "Look, fella, Yugoslavia's that way!" He tried it five times - and with every reading, it sounded more and more like he's the kinda guy who fucks rats for a living. I fired him on Day One."

3. "Slimmy was the keystone for the movie industry's integrity. On his deathbed, he told me I was the only one capable of carrying on his legacy. I wept so hard that I vomited. I don't deserve that kind of praise - no one does. No one but Slimmy."

4. An actor and singer better known as "Phil Harris"