Why must you torment me like this facebook?
Why must you dredge up bad memories?
Why will you not allow the dead to just stay dead??
. . .
For the last few weeks now, facebook has decided to constantly bombard me with "Like Furby" suggestions, via the little toolbar on the righthand side. And the annoying little picture is even accompanied by creepy little (supposed to be cute?) passive aggressive urgings like "Furby is back, and it won't sleep until you like it's page. No really, it won't."
LET ME GET ON WITH MY LIFE FACEBOOK!!!
I find this bizarrely unsettling.
Because I had a bad experience with a furby once.
I was WAY too old to have toys. But that has never stopped me before.
I WANTED one.
And I was absolutely thrilled when I got one for Christmas.
Oh what fun!! What good times we will have!! Isn't it adorable!! Listen to it coo!! And on and on and on. . .
I read the entire little instruction manual that came with it. I memorized certain phrases in furbish. I made mental preparations to have this unholy little creature with me for a LONG time.
But then. . . the ugliness. . .
I was driving back to school from my mom's. It might've been just after Christmas, because I remember that the entire backseat of my car was loaded down with random articles of clothing and miscellaneous crap. (Come to think of it. . .might NOT have been Christmas. I did NOT keep a clean car back in those days.) Whatever. The furby was sitting on the top of the heap, securely nestled in the backseat.
And I had a migraine.
I don't mean "I had a really bad headache." I mean "I had a MIGRAINE," and I had to keep stopping the car so that I could dry-heave on the side of the road, then get back into the car and wait until the shaking stopped so that I could manage to drive again. It was nighttime, otherwise I would've just had to go back to mom's. There's no WAY I could've driven in daylight like that. But I was bravely pushing onward, and trying desperately NOT to start crying every time the headlights from an approaching car hit me directly in the brain.
It was rough going. But I was on country backroads. There was hardly any traffic, the paved road was practically an afterthought, and street lights were nonexistent. So I kept telling myself that I could make it. I could totally DO THIS.
And then. . . it started.
After a particularly deep turn. . . the furby woke UP.
That furry little bastard had been awakened from the sleep of the damned.
And he didn't just "wake up." He woke up INSANE.
He was freaking out. He wasn't just talking. He wasn't cooing. He was COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT, and yelling every furbish swear word he KNEW at me.
I was almost blinded by this radical and unforeseen onslaught.
I quickly slid over onto the side of the road. And then I walked about 12 feet away from the car, holding my aching head and waiting for it to end.
But it DIDN'T end. He was in a blind rage. He just kept screaming. And SCREAMING. AND SCREAMING!!!!
After what seemed like an eternity standing there in the dark on the side of the road, I couldn't take it any more. I rushed the back seat, and pulled him out, making a desperate bid to calm him. It was a no go. I furiously searched for the little Reset switch. But it was one of those where you have to have a screwdriver or icepick or something to press into it.
I did not HAVE a screwdriver on me.
And if I had had an ICEPICK, I would've already shoved it deep inside my ear.
So I did the only thing I knew to do:
I lifted the unholy little demon-fuzzy high over my head and, by the light of the moon I smashed it's evil little brains into a rather large rock again, and again, and again.
Until the screaming stopped.
Which it did, eventually.
I had just beat my Christmas present to death on a rock.
It is not something I'm proud of.
So stop hassling me, facebook.
I will not "like" the furby page.
I do not want a furby.
This is NOT going to change.
And frankly, I resent you for bringing up bad memories.
And furby? I hope you're roasting in the deepest fires of Hell.