Saturday, December 29, 2012

Dante Never Said So, Exactly, But I'm Pretty Sure His Seventh Circle of Hell is Populated by Furbys.

Santa brought both of the girls Furbys for Christmas.

Because Santa is an asshole.

Ainsley's Furby is pink, obviously, because there is no other color in her vocabulary. Kyra's is white. They looked innocent enough in their boxes, those Furbys.  But when we took them out and shoved multiple batteries into their backsides, their eyes popped open, and it's been a living hell ever since.

I don't know how much you know about Furbys, but apparently they are interactive. In marketing-to-gullible-parents speak,  interactive means that they learn from you. (A learning toy! What could be better!) In reality, interactive means that they Never Shut Up. (Quick! Bring me the rest of the sweet tea vodka! No, I don't need a glass!)

They giggle maniacally, which of course causes much glee and laughter, which is cute for a few minutes. And if you turn on music, they dance. The more obnoxious the music, the dancier they get. Bing Crosby Christmas carols? Meh, not so much. But give them a good inappropriate rap song, or maybe some Ke$ha, and they start grooving. You haven't lived til you've seen your 4-year-old, pink Furby clutched passionately to chest, rocking out to "Your Love is my Drug."

Even that, though, I could handle. It wasn't until the Furbys started talking back that I realized what a terrible, terrible mistake Santa had made.

On Christmas evening, I was skyping with the in-laws, who somehow, to this day, have not started custody proceedings against me, despite the fact that they can see my children misbehaving on camera every single week, while I chat away, oblivious, and you just know that after they hang up, they cling to each other and sob, "what in the heck was our son thinking, marrying that woman instead of Super Nanny? Or at least a nice young lady from the same town as us?"

The kids were running around grabbing their new toys and thrusting them at the camera in order to show their grandparents every last thing that had been unwrapped that morning. The main point of this exercise was apparently to make as much noise as possible and get as many items in view of the camera as possible. The Barbies waved at the camera. The princess books almost took my eye out. The Star Wars toy made several fly-bys. Both Furbys made an appearance, cackling and dancing for the camera.

At some point, though, the kids ran out of toys to show off, and they ran into another room, leaving a pile of toys on the chair next to me. The Furbys sat in the pile, cackling and babbling in whatever language it is that Furbys speak.

I tried to ignore them, really I did, but they were too loud. So I called to the girls and asked them to for the love of gawd come get these Furbys out of here.

The girls didn't hear me. But the Furbys did. And one of them distinctly said, in the rudest of rude voices: Oh-Em-Geeee!

I looked at the pile of toys. Both Furbys were laughing and waving their plastic ears, making it was impossible to tell which was the rude one. "Which one of you just said OMG?" I asked them both, astonished. They laughed, but neither confessed.

So I called again for the girls to come get the Furbys. To which one of the Furbys responded "blah blah blah blah BLAAHHHH." And the Furbys laughed again. I'm pretty sure the white one rolled her eyes.

Seriously. Furby back talk. It isn't enough that I have to deal with real-live kids who talk back; now I have two battery-powered little monsters to contend with as well. And in front of the in-laws at that, right there on Skype.

I put the Furbys in time out. Unlike the kids, who constantly emerge from time out to plead their cases, the Furbys muttered for a few minutes and then went to sleep.

I'm wondering: how long do I have to wait before I can hide them under a bed somewhere and leave them to sleep until pack-out?

Awww. So cute. When they're sleeping.

Plotting something rude. And loud. Rude and loud.

Gratuitous shot of Santa and me, at an ugly sweater party, just days before the Furbys drove me to drink.


Kelly said... [Reply]

OMG, you are giving me PTSD flashbacks of when my kids got Furbys from their evil grandparents many years ago. Horrible, horrible critters. One got lost in my daughter's disaster area of a room and yakked for about a week until we could find the little bastard and kill it. I disabled the Furbys after that and hid the batteries until the kids forgot they could talk.

Connie said... [Reply]

I have to share this with a friend of mine whose daughters are the proud new owners of Furby's as well. Not sure if the package has a note or not, but we are pretty sure that you should not feed these things after midnight...

Daniela Swider said... [Reply]

OMG (and I mean it) this post was hilarious! Our daughter has expressed interest in Furbies from time to time but we keep ignoring her because some of our nephews got them when they first came out several years ago and they seemed beyond annoying... Let's hope she's forgotten about them.

Naomi Hattaway said... [Reply]

BLah blah blah BLAH! We have them in our house too (I bought them .... it wasn't even Santa!) and I hate them! They have been packed in a suitcase for the last week, and there they will STAY! I've got a blog post brewing about the same thing! YUCK!

Dan said... [Reply]

Connie shared this with me on facebook as I am the friend whose daughters received these evil little things from Santa. That fat bastard. If I ever catch up to him, I WILL use every method they taught us in the Corps to bring him to his knees.

After about 6 hours of hearing these things muttering (I'm really good at tuning out background noise) I listened to a bunch of giggling from my girls. Hmmm, never a good thing from an 11 year old and 8 year old. So I got curious. Not only do these little creatures talk back to humans, but I'm pretty sure that they are plotting the demise of all parents in that language of theirs. BTW - I'm in dire need of a translator. I can water board them all I want, but if I can't understand them. Not that I think it will do any good with that maniacal laugh of theirs, maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh.....

I have seriously come to the conclusion that they are part of a plot by Al Quieda. They have inserted one of these things in just about every home in America with little girls with the intention of driving the adults mad....mad I tell you.

So now that my girls have gone back to the ex's (and trust me, I tried to send the damn things to her)I think I'm taking them on a little trip.... to the range..........

Bfiles said... [Reply]

Happy New Year!

Vicki Valenta said... [Reply]

I'm laughing so hard that I have tears running down my cheeks. Hilarious!

Many years ago, my daughter brought a similar toy out of her room very late one night. It seems that it lost its charm when it woke her up by turning itself on in reaction to the noise made by the springs on her bed. We removed the batteries and silenced it forevermore.

Please. Write your own stuff.