What are you guys even
talking about, man?
(checks page)
Oh.
Well here's a story.
When I was about six or seven years old and easily terrified, my older sister Emily had a birthday (but only one, ever) she recieved a Furby. This was G1 or G2 Furbies, real basic stuff. It made noises and moved its ears and that was about it. One day, I decided it needed a good, proper, shaking the shit out of, so I stole into my sister's room, nicked it off a shelf and plopped my ass down in the living room to figure out how to turn this magnificent robot overlord against my sister. It was hard to convince, so I just kicked it, forgot about it awhile, came back to it when it responded to the movement of me entering the kitchen to get some crackers, and gave it the kind of shaking even a caucasian nanny would be ashamed of.
It just started buzzing.
And the eyes rolled up in the sockets, unblinking.
And the mouth
kept
moving
As if forming words through the terrible screech. It was LOUD, too. I dunno what the maximum decibel output of these things is, but it was kicking out some real sound. It sounded like "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
but it didn't end. I got scared, ran around the house like an idiot holding the thing at arms length, and then deposited it under the blankets on Emily's bed. My Grandma, who was (and is) a MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE devout Catholic, hinted that she thought it was a demon when she found it. The thing worked fine afterwards, we just hit the little reset button, but damn if I didn't avoid animatronic toys like the plague for years to come.
I may have said this before, but my other sister Jillian works in a Comic store/hobby shop and she retains that people who play Magic are usually the most polite friendly people you could imagine, and then they stuff booster packs into their sweaty pockets when nobody thinks they're looking. "They are the worst people in the entire world" were her exact words, I believe.