Advertising Slogans. Kettle Chips. Absolutely Nothing Artificial

It's been a while since I've been suitably motivated to do one of these. 
Kettle Chips. Their crisp packets proudly proclaim "absolutely nothing artificial". 

Just to be clear about the terms here.  

Dictionary.com defines the adverb "absolutely" as "without exception; completely; wholly; entirely." Then defines the noun "nothing" as "no thing; not anything; naught." And finally the adjective "artificial" as "made by human skill;"

So, If I apply these definitions to the text on the front of a Kettle Chips packet, their "chips" are without exception; completely, wholly; entirely, no thing, not anything; naught; made by human skill. 

That's pretty definite then

Now, up until this point I'd thought "crisps" (or chips if you prefer) were entirely artificial as, and unless I am mistaken, crisps (flavoured, low fat, organic or otherwise) don't occur in nature. Therefore the only way this claim can be accurate is if there is a secret breed of potato Kettle aren't telling us about. And it must be a curious variety. What with its ability to migrate to Great Britain from the home of all potatoes, the Americas. Negotiating the treacherous Atlantic crossing (I mean they must swim. A flying potato? Please) and through the English Channel, before turning northwards to reach the Norfolk coast. Spying this land they realised the rich soil made an ideal place for them to grow and flourish.  

This breed of potato (already something of a curio thanks to its migratory nature and its ability to navigate oceans) then undergoes a series of startling (and entirely natural remember) transformations before becoming a "chip". Their life cycle is, quite possibly, the most bizarre in nature. When they reach maturity this strain of potatoes can dig their way out of the ground. Freed from the mud, the potato's homing instincts must kick in. Like a salmon returning to it's spawning ground, the potato seeks its destiny - the natural potato slicers and vast, hot sunflower oil geysers in this part of East Anglia. The journey is arduous and some don't survive. Those that do, pausing momentarily to survey the view, throw themselves, Lemming like, on to the slicers, only escaping when they've reached a uniform thickness. After resting, they then bathe in the hot oil. No one is sure why, but as soon as they reach a golden colour and crispy consistency, they emerge, transformed into "chips". 

Weakened, from the slicing and the frying, they pull themselves onto the natural flavour pits which surround the geysers to rest, becoming coated in a variety of delicious flavours. The chips are very vulnerable at this point, as they are at their tastiest. So, and in an effort to protect themselves from the predators who gather to feast on the savoury plenty, the "chips" huddle together in 40 gramme and 150 gramme portions, taking shelter in the wild plastic bags they share Norfolk with. On rare occasions groups of six or more bags find a bigger bag to share. Once the "chips" are securely in their packets, Kettle send out skilled "chip" harvesters to bring in the crop. 

Nature's journey from a humble potato, to a premium, deep fried, flavoured chip, packaged in a plastic bag, is complete. 

And there's "absolutely nothing artificial" about it.