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.