Forsooth, a new Furby
It returns, full of obscenity
It comes from the depths, eyes hard and bleak and illuminating menace, its beak chatters gladiatorial; it is back it is back it is back and it says it’ll never leave, it has come from the depths, its beak chatters and plastic lids rub back and forth and back and forth and do nothing to hide the asphyxiation of its eyes which are black and blank and it says again and again and again it’s back it’s back and it will not leave.
Furby has returned. The millennial childhood nightmare bursts from the grave.
Well, okay, honestly? Furby hasn’t really gone anywhere. The furry, hellish playmound has existed in some form or other pretty consistently since its 1998 launch, with the toy being revived in 2005 and 2012.
Much like herpes, Furby never goes away.
This is why it’s utterly unsurprising that Hasbro has relaunched it (again) for the toy’s 25th anniversary.
Yet there is something surprising going on with the new Furby: how similar it is to the old one.
Is it a bit smarter? Yeah, of course. It has, and I quote, “5 voice activated modes and over 600 responses to discover, including lights, sounds, and 10 unique songs.”
The blinking monstrosity can dance, flash some lights, and copy your voice. Which isn’t a million miles away from the OG model:
To be fair, there are some new features.
The new Furby’s designers obviously have an addiction to mediocre self-help podcasts because the toy is now able to join in on a meditation session.
Really, what’s next? Huh? Really? What’s next? What is next? Children learning healthy habits? Being treated with autonomy and respect? Gaining self worth?
No. Thank. You.
Despite this minor evolution, the incredible technological advances we’ve made in the last quarter of a century since Furby’s launch are barely reflected in this new toy — and that’s to say nothing of the monumental cultural shift we’ve seen.
This — it goes without saying, although I’m still going to say it — is unacceptable.
So, Hasbro, listen: I understand this Furby is launched, but we both know you have another “revival” up your sleeve. With that in mind, I have some tips on how to make the next Furby properly reflect our modern world.
ChatGPT integration
Has it been done? You betcha — but a good idea remains a good idea.
Plus, when have corporations ever been shy about ripping off an individual’s stroke of genius in search of greater profits? Exactly.
Anyway, the next Furby needs full ChatGPT integration.
Against our collective will, a vengeful god decided long ago that Furby must attempt to communicate with us. And if it must do so, then, like beezelbub himself, it should be with the entirety of human knowledge at its vile pawtips.
What is more disconcerting — and representative of the moral decrepitude of the world — than a Furby that is deviantly omniscient, at once both possessing unworldly understanding and failing to understand basic logic?
The mind of Furby is unknown.
When humanity interacts with it, we must not receive an accurate reflection of ourselves, but a warped picture of what we believe to be; Furby’s aloofness should be imbued with the distance and maleficence of a bored deity, its words uncanny and cursed, toeing the boundaries of reality. Through Furby we must grasp that god has abandoned us and, in his place, there exists only nothingness.
ChatGPT’s a pretty perfect choice, then.
Make it long. Make it hellish
Furby’s shape has remained roughly the same since its launch.
This is wrong. Times change. Aesthetics change.
Think of the trends in male bodies. In the 70s, it was all about spindly fem-boys like Bowie; in the 80s it was glistening, muscle-bound meatmounds like Arnie; and in the 90s, the decade of Furby’s birth, it was Ricky Martin.
Actually, it’s always been and always will be Ricky Martin. She, indeed, bangs.
My point, though, is simple: things done changed.
Currently, Furby remains shaped like a forgotten potato you eventually find in the back of a cupboard that got infected with hitherto undiscovered psychedelic fungus:
Yet, in 2023 the horrors we’re constantly submitted to make the 90s seem like an innocent wonderland filled with bubbling joy and twinkling sandcastles.
A modern Furby must showcase the true horror of modern existence — it must be long:
It must be star-shaped:
It must puff, steam cascading from its hard beak, its four limbs pounding and scratching the dry earth in anticipation, dust choking upwards with each movement, and, with its antlers swaying left-to-right in the gentle wind of the cool morning, hunt our children for sport:
Lifeless eyes, black eyes… like a doll's eyes
It’s not just fashions that have changed — so has humanity’s understanding of the universe and our place in it.
For example, since Furby’s launch, brainbox scientists actually managed to take a picture of a genuine black hole:
Yet, despite our ability to gaze into the abyss, I do not see Furby’s eyes gazing back.
Instead, they glitter, almost leaping with joy, despite the cavernous despair laying behind their cheap lamination.
No. I say once more: no. I REPEAT, no.
Underneath that rainbow veneer is despair; humanity’s despair, condensed and bubbling, collapsing in on itself in a malevolent swirl.
We built the Large Hadron Collider. Now, we must harness it — and replace the Furby’s eyes with the black holes they are born to be.
The Furby must have Werner Herzog’s voice
The voice of Furby is at odds with all we have learned of it so far. Listen:
This will not do.
And there’s only one person suitable for exhibiting the very desolation of mankind’s spirit that Furby represents: Werner Herzog.
Everything it’s compelled to say must be uttered in his tone, his phrasing, and his voice:
It is the only way.
And if he refuses? He will not refuse.
Are you reading, Hasbro?
Silly question, I know you are.
I’ve given you all the materials to build the Furby we need, now it’s up to you to put them together.
I await, eagerly, for your response.