Gambit stood in the sand, his commanding glare pinning everyone before him to the spot. His upper lip quivered as he took an almighty breath in, then spoke:
"Listen up, punks! I didn't know what the Foundation told you about me, if I was a liar, an impostor, hell, one guy even had the audacity to say that I was an SCP that makes everyone think I'm a Site Admin and I've gone mad with power! Well that's just silly. And we can't have silliness on the job, oh no, not here in what will now be designated: Site 12, Chairtopia.
That's right. Chairs. Why chairs, do you ask? Because there's SO MUCH GODDAMN POTENTIAL in each and every last one of those mother[QUACK]ers they're keeping in storage. Zombie chairs! Regeneration chairs! Chairs that fly, chairs that talk, and most importantly, all of them make the comfiest [QUACK]ing leather in the universe. Our motto is, from this day forward, 'We Make Chairs'. Why not, 'If it Exists, we can Chair it', do you ask? Well, that would imply that we can't make chairs out of imaginary things, and I'm sure you scientists will be able to come up with a way to make the impossible ... a chair.
I also recommend that we get twice the usual onsite nuclear warheads than usual. Why?"
His eyes narrow.
"Because if so much as one of you [QUACK]ers lets those [QUACK]ing chairs escape, I swear to [VEGETABLE] that I will blow this joint to kingdom come. No one gets my [QUACK]ing chairs but me.
Now, I'm sure you're wondering how exactly we are going to store all this fine product! We will be drilling into the mountain you see behind me, and drilling rooms into the mountain to store SCPs in while we figure out how to make chairs out of them. You fine agents will have a choice - you can have rooms right next to the dangerous prechairs, or you can have a shack out here. All good? All good. Let's get to it!"
With that, he wanders off.