You may or may not have heard the story of my Colonel Sanders spork, but as he is now dead and cracked I only feel it is appropriate to say a few words, and tell you the story. I have had a Kentucky Fried Chicken spork on my handlebars for quite some time. It always points in the direction I am going and it has not failed to get me to a destination as of yet.I acquired my spork while in Zanesville, OH. The church provided us with a lovely lasagna dinner and afterward we were served cake and neopolitan ice cream. There was a big bin of plastic silverware from which we could choose a utensil, and the varieties were abundant. I think I took a regular old spoon, but then I looked over and saw Max eating his ice cream with a spork. Genius!So, I said to Max "When I was younger, my mom would take us to KFC and we would eat delicious mac and cheese and mashed potatoes with sporks just like that." Just then, Max exclaimed "Why look, it IS a KFC spork."Max graciously let me take the spork from his hands and upon closer examination I realized that it was indeed a vintage spork, for it was complete with the Colonel's head and it said "Kentucky Fried Chicken" on it. (If my understanding is correct, the corporation no longer goes by that name and simply uses the phrase "KFC"). I estimated the value of the spork to be around $5.But alas, the other morning in Drummond I discovered that the Colonel had been cracked during transportation into a church basement. I suspect the Colonel went on a rampage and gave Jaime and Shea flats during dinner time when we were eating fried chicken and creamed corn. Perhaps it was for the best.