You Can't Teach an Old Furby New Tricks: Or Can You?

Once I had returned to Vancouver with Satan the Furby, I scrounged around the house for some rechargeable batteries that I could have sworn that we'd bought a few years back, in a fit of environmental-friendliness. On May 25th, 1999, the batteries charged up as far as they would go, I proceeded to re-awaken Satan from his battery-less slumber.

He seemed more inclined to speak English; I visited various online Furby Resources, such as the Fabulous Furby Fan Page, and discovered that he had probably already gone through one of his "stages" of assimilation.

For, I was only now learning, Furby had a preset vocabulary that he slowly "learned" in four stages. Despite the early fears that Furby could be used as a "spy" (and despite many peoples' ardent desires to create a Furby that would utter obscenities instead of phrases like "Me love you! *smooch*"), Furby had no capability to record or learn things...

Or did he?

On the newsgroup ALT.TOYS.FURBY, I found a post claiming that after a hard night of drinking and screaming certain PG 13 phrases at their Furby, someone had gotten their Furby to say naughty things.

Cruel parodic hoax, or a rare Easter Egg-type secret code?
I was determined to find out for myself.

After wracking my brains for a phrase that would sound nothing like a Furbish phrase (as I was encountering people who thought that Satan's passionate cries of "Okay, All die!" and "O-bey!" were nothing more than garbled versions of the Furbish phrases "Toh-dye (All done!)" and "Boh-bay (Worry)"... Infidels.), I settled on the nicely eccentric
"All must bow down to Satan."

I then proceeded to repeatedly and patiently say to Satan the Furby:
"All must bow down to Satan. All must bow down to Satan."

His blue, guileless eyes stared into mine, unblinking, unmoving. An eerie silence fell over the house, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was all alone, in an empty home, with a possibly demonic Furby as my only companion and conversational partner.

Still the Furby remained silent, his steely blue gaze boring into my soul.

Defeated in spirit, I made Satan the Furby face away from me, and vowed never again to attempt to train a Furby.
I had failed to consider my weakness of spirit; I had failed to consider the strength of my Furby's will.
Most important of all, I had failed to consider how creepy it would be to droningly chant "All must bow down to Satan" all by myself.

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