Perhaps It's Time for Him to Stick a Fork in Himself

Terrible tragedy in ValWorld last night. During the feeding frenzy that was her dinner time, a trusty old friend bit the dust. Actually...Val bit the trusty old friend.

I have a favorite fork. Not even one of those metal ones that I've had all my adult life, that a careless teen guest THREW AWAY with her plate during Hick's retirement cookout. No, my favorite fork is plastic. Not just any plastic. This fork is the epitome of plastic forks. The zenith. The summit, the penthouse, the highest level of plastic fork available to the general public. I think I got it at Captain D's.

If Captain D's is indeed the origin of my favorite plastic fork, that would mean he's at least two years old, because I haven't been to Captain D's since The Pony left for college. It was a treat for him, and about 45 minutes away. Whenever we were in Bill-Paying Town, he'd ask to go there. Yes, I think my favorite plastic fork is...WAS...at least two years old. That's kind of long-in-the-tooth for a plastic fork.

Anyhoo...I was all settled at my New Delly in my dark basement lair. Hick was away at the auction. I was enjoying a delicious terrible tater. That's what it's called at our old favorite BBQ restaurant. A giant baked potato covered with BBQ pulled pork. Only we were at the bottom of the bag of big potatoes, so this one was kind of mediocre in size. I'd say it was a naughty spud. Not a terrible tater.

Mmm...I like my tater with a little sour cream, and the pulled pork. Hick also adds butter, but not me. No need. I'm not a Butterton like Hick and The Pony. So there I was, enjoying this treat, savoring each bite off my smoooooth white plastic fork. You know the texture of a baked potato, right? Soft and mushy. The BBQ pulled pork can be a little stringy in contrast. But nothing in that bite is hard. Like what I bit down on!

What in the Not-Heaven? You know the first thing you think when that happens, right? "Oh, no! Did I break a tooth?" Maybe that's not what YOU think, but that's what Val thinks. I carefully worked that hard part to the front of my mouth, and removed it. OH, NO! It was white! Was it a part of a tooth? My tongue immediately started searching my teeth. But wait! That fragment was VERY white. Almost as white as...MY FAVORITE FORK!

Apparently, in my feeding frenzy, I had chomped down on the end of my favorite fork, and severed the tip of a tine! Dang it! I LOVED that fork! Now I'd have to use metal. Or those ridged black plastic forks that come free with Hardee's chicken bowls. Even though I had a couple of them waiting in the wings, still in the clear plastic, stashed around my lair...I wasn't giving up on my favorite plastic fork just yet. It would be the fork farewell tour, finishing my naughty spud.

DANG IT! I guess my favorite plastic fork had lost the will to feed me. He snapped off at the neck. Which would have been REALLY hard to continue, holding onto that little nub. Farewell, favorite plastic fork! I shall miss you dearly.

Looks like it's time for Forky to stick a fork in himself. He's done.

Here's a picture. Sorry if he's kind of dirty.

No way am I washing a broken plastic fork, just to take a picture. THAT would be crazy.