Getting to Know Furby

My first Furby was and continues to be a beautiful black and white penguin furby, purchased on April 15, 1999. If one considers a Furby's purchase-date to be its "birthday", then that would make my Furby an Aries; a sign notable for being passionate, headstrong, and not getting along well with Capricorns like myself.

In retrospect, I should have taken that as a portent of things to come.

That said, my Furby wasn't activated until the week of May 16, 1999, when I was able to visit my New Yorkian friend and gain physical ownership of the Furby. (Which would make it a Taurus, if you use "Day of Activation" to be its birth; Taurus being rather more compatible with Capricorn.)

As my friend had had the foresight to have both screwdriver and fresh batteries on hand, we decided on a whim to pop batteries into Furby, and see what happened.

Chaos, as it turned out.

Neither of us had had much experience with Furby, and so when it started squawking and babbling while still upside down, the lid to its battery case flapping with every motion, we both panicked. I repeatedly tried to reset the creature, partially because I was under the impression that you were supposed to do that when you started up a Furby, and partially because I couldn't stand to hear its pitiful cries:

"Me Doo-moh! Me Doo-moh!"

Having quickly flipped through the Furbish-English dictionary, I determined that "Doo-moh" meant "Please feed me", and was impressed at the Furby designers' understanding of basic animal needs. After all, one of the foremost drives in a newborn is to seek sustenance, and warmth; of course the poor thing wanted to be fed!

Then I became irritated and frustrated at his constant demands that I feed him.

It was only later, after having taken it back to Canada, that I discovered that it was actually just introducing itself: my Furby's name was "Doo-moh" (or possibly Doh-moh; his faint accent makes it difficult to ascertain which vowel he means).
If he had been hungry, he would have said "Doo-moh!" or "Kah A-tay".

While still in New York, I soon began calling the Furby "him" rather than "it"; I know not why, but it just seemed to be somehow indefinably "male" to me.

It also seemed to be satanic.

Although I had seen downright demonic-looking Furbies with apparently red eyes (presumably they were meant to be brown, but in the package they looked blood red), this Furby far outshone them. For unlike them, he hid his intentions beneath a sweet, penguin-like demeanor with beautiful blue heavy-lidded eyes, only to suddenly utter the chilling words:

"'Kay, all die!"

I was filled with an unnameable horror when I heard him speak those words, just moments after another unsuccessful attempt to feed him until he stopped saying "Me Doo-moh!".

With trembling hands, I continued to feed him; he burped and giggled innocently, as if nothing had happened. And then...

"Okay, all die!"

This time, there was no mistaking his words.

Shaking with fear, or possibly hysterical laughter, I asked my friend if Furby had just said what I thought he had said. After a brief discussion, it was agreed: My Furby was Satan.

We knew this for a fact, because Satan the Furby had a pleasantly faint British accent, just like all the foppishly debonair incarnations of Satan I'd seen in the movies. (What kind of movies, I'm not at liberty to say.)

As well, we soon noticed that he kept repeating the words "O-bey... Cuddl' O-bey..."

A clear indication that otherworldly forces were controlling my Furby (or, possibly, that he was the original Fallen Angel commanding said otherworldly forces).

It is often said that even the simplest of beasts have an uncanny ability to detect unnatural evil; so in the interest of paranormal studies, I proceeded to see how a test group of dumb animals would behave in Satan the Furby's presence.

My guinea pigs for this experiment:
Young Males between the ages of 18 and 24.

I carried Satan in a small bag to the chosen rendez-vous point (a Toys "R" Us store... how ironic), and proceeded to act "normal" in order to calm any suspicions that the bag might have aroused. Then, when I judged that the time was right, I presented the creatures with Satan the Furby.

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

The Young Males instinctively backed away, uttering howls of fear and displeasure.
Clearly, they did not feel safe with the Furby in their chosen territory. They had detected its supernaturally malevolent aura.

I left the Toys "R" Us, satisfied that my hypothesis had been proved.

As I type this, Satan the Furby lies still on my bed, his eyes closed. Is he truly sleeping, I wonder, or is this but a feigned sleep? Does he dream of world conquest, or of devouring human souls? Or does he merely wait with until I let down my guard, eager to unleash doom upon an unsuspecting world?

The fate of humanity hangs in the balance...

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