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Death of a Furby
ifeedformula wrote in metaquotes
ladydyani brings on teh funny again.

When my daughter was three, we somehow managed to beat the other people away and get her a Furby for Christmas. (Remember how popular those were? And how hard they were to find?)

She opens it Christmas morning, and is absolutely delighted. After presents are finished, I'm in the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast dishes. She's taking Furby around and showing him the house. I hear "This is the living room." Step, step, step. "This is the kitchen." Step, step, step. "This is the bathroom." Pause. "Go potty." SPLASH!

She dropped poor Furby in the toilet. I suppose dropped is the wrong word. Shoved would be more appropriate.

After a painstaking drying, he did manage to work again, but for the rest of his life, he would randomly blurt out odd sounds every once in a while.

Poor Furby.

The context has been savaged by a small child

All this insane-Furby talk is making me want to do something in the same vein as Peep Research. I think they'd devour my soul, though.

I'm reading through the comments and laughing so hard I can't breathe. Toys just...shouldn't TALK and MOVE under their own POWER. It's not right.

The comments on this are pure gold. I haven't laughed so hard in quite a while.

I was cleaning my room the other day, and from out of nowhere I hear this voice go "Huuungry!"

I hadn't touched my furby for two years.

I now sleep upstairs.

I liked my furby, but I never wholeheartedly accepted him, poor thing. My parents refused to get my a living pet until I was nearly 17 (I'm going on 18 now). So, like, it was a cute furry robot, but it was not the cat I asked for.

*hugs her kitty*

It's one great advantage, though, was that it didn't come to beg for food at 5 am.

According to many of the earlier comments in the thread, other Furbies apparently did beg for food at 5 am. Using a mannerism that made the owners think the toys were after their precious, precious brain meats.

I'm very glad I don't have a Furby. Don't need any (more) neuroses in my life, thankyewverymuch.

I actually put fresh batteries in my Furby three days ago after letting it sit dormant for like three years. Strange coincidence.

My Furby didn't do anything scary, but it was very sick. It kept sneezing, burping, asking for food, and randomly falling asleep. Who knew neglect was such a serious issue?

Anyway, I liked to this post in this journal entry of mine. Thank you!

I was re-reading all of this and cracking up. It also reminded me of a story my mom's told for ages.

Apparently, when I was a wee lass, I had a 'realistic' baby doll that cried. You had to pick it up and rock it or something to get it to shut up. One day, my mom dropped me off at school and I left the thing in the backseat of her car. It started crying, so she threw it in the trunk to keep it from distracting her (she tends to be rather accident prone even without distractions). Some time during the morning, while out running errands, she stopped at a gas station to fill up the car. While she was inside paying for her gas and getting a drink or whatever, somebody called the police on her. The police forced her to open her trunk to prove there was NOT a baby inside (as the complaintant had claimed). Oops. XD