A baby whose pasty complexion, misplaced eyes, and odd proportions indicate that they were the offspring of a father whose sperm was weak and watery and chunky, not entirely unlike the consistency of instant potatoes.
Holy shit, did you see that kid? Classic case of instant potatoes baby...with a dad like his, didn't stand a chance. Poor thing.
A vile, ungodly creation with no equal. The ultimate torture weapon of suburban mother's who don't like to peel potatoes or work late. A plague upon suburbia that leaves only hungry children and carnage in it's wake. A "food" dish from hell itself which can both lacerate the inside of your mouth with water-resistant flakes and also dribble out your mouth as you choke on it and beg for the gentle release of death. Generally, they're pretty terrible. Can be used to great effect in soups if you're allergic to flour though.
"Sweetie, I made instant mashed potatoes to go with dinner."
"Fuck you. I'm going out for Thai food. Eat that crap yourself."
A Shackteau is a humble, weather-beaten, structurally questionable shelter located in a spectacular or highly coveted place—Wales, Jackson Hole, Sun Valley, Crested Butte, coastal Maine, the Alps—where the building itself may be worth almost nothing, but the dirt, view, access, and mythology make it absurdly valuable.
In use:
Shackteâu - We thought it was an abandoned shed until the realtor called it a rare alpine Shackteâu with unobstructed views and listed it for $2 million.