It was my daughter’s birthday recently. I watched as she opened all her gifts in approximately the time it takes my wiener dog to destroy a roll of toilet paper. She got many toys that day and it started to bring back memories of the toys that got when I was younger. There was one such toy that came to my mind. It was a toy that looked like a mix between a, rabbit, a penguin, and a gerbil. I am of course talking about the Furby. For those of you who have not experienced a Furby, it was a furry flightless bird like thing that would talk Furbish at first, which sounded similar to a drive thru speaker attended by an unmotivated teenager. Over time the Furby learn to speak English the more you played with it.
Oh but how fortune favored me. To my surprise I was the only one that got the only Furby on the planet that needed psychiatric help, and this is why:
The day I got my Furby was a memorable day, one that will haunt my memory and dreams for the rest of my life. One of my friends was present that day and witnessed the event. I still visit him today from time to time, at the mental hospital but not as much as I should. Like all Furbies, mine came in its little packaged Furby box. Furby didn’t look like it came from a bad home nor did it look malnourished or abused. There were no signs of alcohol or drug abuse, so you would assume all would be ok. But I was wrong. Upon opening and removing the Furby from its cardboard slumber it eyes were closed… sleeping… waiting… for me to awaken it. I flipped the switch and sat the Furby up. Furby started opening his eyes slowly, but they only remained half open, as if I asked it something totally stupid. Furby then started to speak, and to this day I don’t think it was Furbish that it was speaking, but whatever language the demon that possessed it that day. Here is what happened:
Me (Flipping the switch): *Click*
Furby: (eyes half open) “Breglish bloop arish fen har.”
All of the sudden Furby’s eyes shot wide open and started to scream bloody murder, yes.. . it screamed.
I ended up dropping Furby in fear, and even while it dropped it continued to scream with its eyes piercing wide staring into my soul: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”
My friend terrorized with fear: “WHAT DID YOU DO? DID YOU HURT IT?”
Me: “NO! I don’t think you can hurt it!”
Friend: “Turn it off!”
Me, trying to turn it off and shaking it at the same time: “It won’t shut off!”
Furby (being shook): “AAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAA!!!”
Friend: “PULL THE BATTERIES!”
I franticly pulled the batteries from Furby and its screaming stops. I turn it around and the Furby now has its face paralyzed from what we last saw… shear agony and pain. My friend was curled up in a ball in the corner as I threw Furby back in his package.
Furby never had its batteries put back in. To this day it is still in the same sate it was on that horrific day, eyes wide open and mouth agape, and that is where he’ll remain. I realized I never got a Furby that day, instead, that day, I got the Disturby.