Fork Dreams

“So it is with minds. Unless you keep them busy with some definite subject that will bridle and control them, they throw themselves in disorder hither and yon in the vague field of imagination ... And there is no mad or idle fancy that they do not bring forth in the agitation.” -Michel de Montaigne

You know how it is. You'll be sitting there having a normal conversation with someone (Shush, you. It's completely normal to talk about fork-holes in time-space in everyday conversation...you mean you don't?), when suddenly things spiral massively out of control. Instead of continuing to converse as civilized folks, things degenerate quickly into culture references and puns until all you can think of is getting in the next strike of wit before your opponent...I mean, conversation partner.

Blue lines are from the twisted mind of yours truly, while grey ones are authored by Matthew.


Well, clearly the only conclusion is: it's your fault. You create fork-holes in time-space.

Fork you.

Use the fork, Luke.

Two forks were set by a yellow plate, and I used the one less tine-ed. And this has made all the difference.

This is one salad fork for man, but one pitch fork for mankind.

I only regret that I have but one fork to eat with for my dinner.

I have never let my fork interfere with my eating.

I did not have sexual relations with that fork.

Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my fork in my mouth.

Four forks and seven spoons ago, our fathers brought forth on this dishwasher, a clean utensil, pre-rinsed in hot water, and dedicated to the proposition that caked-on food is extremely nasty.

I keep a close watch on this fork of mine.
I keep my mouth wide open all the time.
I keep the salt out for the i-o-dine.
Because you're mine, I stab the tine.

I find it very, very easy to be spoon
I find myself alone when each lunch is noon
Yes, I’ll admit that I’m a fork for you
Because you’re mine, I stab the tine.

My stomach's seen the glory of the coming of the fork
It is bringing tasty morsels, collared greens and salt-cured pork
I hath eaten wild boar, and quail, and pheasant -- even stork
My plate is piled on

Its handle is embroidered with a tasteful fleur-de-lis
Its bowl is curved quite gently, it's as graceful as could be
The tines, they number four, and they are blunted, yessirree
My supper spears right on

My mother sang its gospel as we gathered round to dine
"Don't use it like a shovel, or you ain't no son of mine
"Be a mensch and hold it thusly and you'll look so sharp and fine"
Its tines go flashing on

Go ‘way from my dessert,
Eat at your own chosen speed.
I’m not the fork you want, babe,
I’m not the one you need.
You say you’re lookin’ for salad
Never wilted but always green,
To nourish you an’ fill you
Whether it is lettuce or bean
Salad to eat each and every day,
But it ain’t me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe,
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ fork, babe.

Oh salad fork, the greens, the greens are calling
Iceberg, romaine, and sweet radicchio
The dressing's good, and crouton crumbs are falling
You're nice and fresh, so in my bowl you go

But come ye back when pepper's on the table
I like a bit of pepper freshly ground
Upon your peaks, a lovely dust of sable
Oh salad fork, I'm so glad you're around

But when you're done, and entrees are arriving
You're good as dead, and dead you well may be
You're tossed aside, as Father hears me shriving
And put away, of no more use to me

And if you're washed and cleansed with gentle waters
Perhaps one day we two shall meet once more
For soon dessert, by grace will grace my quarters
Then you and I, will eat these petit-four

Once upon an evening dreary, while I polished, forks so beery,
Over many a dingy and foaming volume of forgotten [dinner]ware,
While I wash-ed, neatly shining, suddenly there came a clacking,
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my washing chair.
“Tis some diner” I muttered, “bringing more silver needing care-
Only this! I’ll wash nothing more.”

So you wanted
To eat some pie
But clean utensils
Were not nearby
Well fuck you too
Give me my fork back
Give me my fork back, you bitch
I want my fork back

Why are there so many songs about forks
And what's on the other tine?
Forks are utensils, but only lim’ted ones,
And forks are nothing too fine.
So we've been taught and some choose to eat with it
I know there’s better, wait and see.
Someday you'll find it, the fork connection,
The inventers, we use sporks for tea.

One for oysters,
One for lobster,
One for grapefruit,
Who could ask for any more forks?
Want asparagus?
That's no problem!
I've got that one,
Who could ask for any more forks?
Even cooked fish,
I don't serve 'em,
But if I did,
Here's the fork.
One for ice cream,
One for pickles,
One for cold meat,
Who could ask for any more forks?

{If you don't believe that all those forks exist, I direct your attention to here}


I count 16 culture references here. Can you find them all?