Evil Furby: Part II
For those of you who don't believe me yet, I've gathered some photographic evidence that this Furby just ain't right. It all started when I came home from work on day two of Evil's stay here at Casa de Fung. Unbeknownst to me, Evil decided to hop on the Net and do a FungVision show. What's even worse is that it booked some guests, none other than shock rap artists the Insane Clown Posse. The three juggalos seemed to be livin' it up when I got home. In fact, Evil seemed to fit right in...
I thought to myself, fine. ICP would at least be good for the show's ratings, ya' know? I played it off like nothing ever happened, but the Furby didn't realize that it didn't turn the webcam off when they were done partying. Did I mention that Evil seemed to be walking a little funny by the time Violent J and Shaggy left? Any way, the furry little bastard got into my cigarettes and made like the Marlboro Man...
Mind you, I can't really diss the Furby for smoking. I mean, Furbies are easily influenced, and I smoke in front of him all the time. But things just go downhill from here. I don't know if ICP got Evil to smoking crack or something, but later that night, I happened to be coming out to the kitchen for a sandwich, when much to my surprise I found Evil Furby writing checks out of my checkbook!
I sat down with Evil, and we had a talk. My Furby admitted that yes, it had a problem, but it would get help and we would be a happy family again. Actually, all it said was "Me Evil. Me LOVE you..." but I took that as a sign of agreement. Not one week later, this picture was taken when I stumbled across Evil digging around in the medicine cabinet looking to score. Too bad I don't have anything but Band-Aids, ibuprofen, and nasal spray, furry little bastard!
Needless to say, Evil KNEW it was busted stone-cold and dead to rights. My Furby spent the next week in rehab at the Hasbro Clinic in Macon, Georgia. Things were alright for a few days, but sure enough, pretty soon Furby was showing its true colors (red and pink withstanding, of course). Here we see Evil raiding my fridge and running up my cell phone bill.
By that time, I'd had enough. I went for the screwdriver, but in a flash the furry little hellspawn knew what I'd meant to do. In an instant the foofy little bastard went for a knife, a cold, lifeless stare in its eyes as it said over and over again, "C'mon, Bitch... TEST me." Is it just me, or does that Furby look like it's jonesing for a fix of something?
More to come...
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