It's Friday evening. You're rummaging hungrily through your kitchen cabinets when you come across an old bag of potatoes. Just how old is an open question; potatoes kept past a certain age at proper humidity will often attain a indefinite stasis. Not that the tubers are dangerously rotten or moldy or anything, but they've got eyes.
Lots of eyes. A dozen or so medium-sized spuds, all positively arachnoid. Eyes everywhere you turn. Starchy agents of the Gestapo.
These potatoes are long past being suitable for baking. Frying them wouldn't be very wise either. But you hate to waste food. So you grab a paring knife, de-oculate the semi-shriveled starchy veggies, peel them and cut them up into small chunks. Boiling seems the only viable option here. It's been forever since you last had a hearty bowl of mashed potatoes.
So into the pot your newly blind taters go. They cook just fine, turning out nicely soft and mashable. But you don't have any sort of power tool suited for the job, and the collander full of unfinished dinner bodes an awful lot of work with just a fork.
But wait - what about that blender sitting there on the counter? You know it's got a strong motor, and the blades are sharp. It's worth a shot.
You load the blender about halfway with cooked potato chunks and smaller amounts of sundry seasonings and heartiness-enhancers. A job worth doing is worth doing right. So you hold the lid on (tightly!) and hope for the best.
The bottom-most layer of potatoes are quickly mashed (if that's even the right word here). But the higher-residing spuds are staying in place; their solidity and stickiness prevent them from mixing adequately with the already viscous remainder.
A bit of manual squishing improves the blender's performance. At least, it looks like it's running better, although something smells funny. You stop the motor once again and sniff the semi-mashed potatoes. Nothing seems amiss, and they taste great as well. You must be imagining things. A tad more manual assitance ought to let the machine finish its job.
The smell increases, but the blender continues to run, albeit in a somewhat labored manner. The potatoes are thick, after all. So you leave it to its whirring and grinding and cross the kitchen to bring over the next batch of unmashed raw material.
The smell pervades the room. You turn your head to the sight of smoke pouring out from the blender's body. Rushing over, you unplug it and remove the jar full of mostly-mashed potatoes. The smoking doesn't stop, so you carry the ruined, overheated machine outside and toss it in the newly-fallen snow to cool off.
The potatoes turn out to be absolutely delicious; your self-immolated blender had succumbed in pursuit of a worthy goal. But there are plenty of potatoes left to mash, and morning brings funny looks from roomates and neighbors.