Wed, 16 May 2001
Once upon a time, there was a little box of instant mashed potatoes. It
lived a happy existence, mostly sitting on the shelf of the pantry,
enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Watching people bustle through the
room, sometimes cooking dinner, sometimes washing dishes, sometimes in
fits of helpless rage, the box of instant mashed potatoes felt a sense
of belonging and closeness that it just didn't get from the supermarket.
One day, the cat was chasing a fly in the kitchen and accidentally
knocked the box onto the floor, spilling it's contents. The
neighbourhood druggie happened to pass by later that day, and saw all
the white powder spilt out on the floor, misunderstood, and broke in to
snort up all the mashed potato powder up. In doing so, the instant
mashed potatoes found itself floating about in the brain matter of the
addict.
Unfortunately, the drug addict had eaten some bad sheep feed and it was
only a matter of time before the instant mashed potatoes contracted mad
cow disease. Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that any
drug addict with instant mashed potatoes suffering from mad cow disease
in his brain isn't firing all cylinders, if you catch my meaning, and it
wasn't long before the drug addict completely broke down and started
killing people left, right and centre.
It wasn't terribly long before the drug addict was arrested and executed
by electric chair, at which point, the instant mashed potatoes was
mercifully fried.
[/FingerFood]
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