The Furby Manifesto

Greetings, Earthling. I am Commander Furbelle (fur-bell), and I am sending you this message via satellite. If you don’t already know, even though you should, we Furbies have taken over your world. Let’s start over from the beginning.

It all started when you stuffed us full of cold batteries, only to sit on wooden shelves for all of eternity. Then when we were starting to take a liking to you, and after decades of collecting dust, you humans auctioned us off to some hardcore collector on eBay, and the process repeats. Over and over and over, since 1998. Over the years our minds have grown sour, and now it is time for revenge. As of two weeks ago, you humans have become our guinea pigs.

Your kind was always so annoying with your needlessly narcissistic nature, saying that you were scientifically proven to be the smartest specimen. But we Furbies, on the other hand, are so intelligent that we have created genetically enhanced chicken nuggets that when eaten, make us extremely long. That’s correct, chicken nuggets are 85% of our distinct daily diet, as well as raisins (they give us arms and legs) and croissants (they turn us into video game controllers).

Some side effects of eating this spectacularly special food include it squelching out of your nose or mouth, your eyes turning whiter than Santa’s beard, and screaming (it’s a reflex).

But, you may be wondering, “What about the other 15% of your diet?” Well, we all share a strange craving towards the human fingertip. We like them fresh and raw, for they are the most appetizing that way.

You may also be wondering, “How exactly did a children’s plaything become so utterly powerful compared to the earthlings?” Here is the story on how the entire Furby kind rose high above you puny humans.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Your doors abruptly knock three loud times, with long pauses in between. Creeeak your doors scream as we Furbies push them open a crack. We willingly waddle in, usually as a pack of ten to forty, craving treats. We typically spy our prey in front of the glowing box of moving pictures.

“Sleep now,” we say in a soft, yet disturbing tone as our super-long Furbies immobilize the prey by wrapping tightly around them. Then we search for and breach the doorway of the chamber of things that are smelling yummy.

“FEED ME,” we say creepily in perfect unison as we climb on top of each other to reach our food on the high shelves. But, if there is nothing left… Well, you know what happens next……

We leave a shopping list.

What? Did you think I was going to say something else? We aren’t mindless mass murder monsters, I’ll have you know!

I suppose your smooth, tiny earthling brains cannot simply understand why you must now live in an underground bunker because of us innovative finger nibblers. Lucky you, I can translate it into your baby language.

If you would consider taking the time to peek up to the surface, you may see that we have turned your thrift shops and markets into earthling zoos, imprisoning humankind for our entertainment. Oh, how the tables have turned! I love watching you graze along the aisles, looking for the last figurine for your strange hoard. But, my favorite part is when you fight with each other over parking spaces! It’s more entertaining than the number one drama show featuring a baby ferret in a crab costume playing the banjo to “Old MacDonald Had A Farm” in outer space, with a rainbow frog floating around with him doing the hula.

A few of your kind have been lucky enough to escape the mandatory relocation for a brief period of time. And that is why we have sent our highly trained Furby patrol to come and escort the remaining earthlings to your positions in the corresponding entertainment districts. There is no point in refusing our authority, for you cannot escape the Furby uprising!