Unlike Netflix with its smug conviction that I’ll just looove “Kung Fu: Enter the Fist” (disgusting — I don’t even want to know) and the full season of “Canterbury’s Law” (starring Juliana Margulies and her 18-century-moustache eyebrows), you understand my needs.

Pandora, will you accept this rose? Let’s go make out like you’re Casey and I’m Vienna, only I actually won’t mind getting guilt raped by you in front of green-lensed night-vision cameras…and all of America. Guard and protect my heart, Pandora! Guard and protect it!

On a related note, I just experienced the anger and rage that is Awolnation’s single “Sail.” It made me realize that (a.) there are, in proctology terms, a buttload of sailing songs out there, e.g., Enya’s “Sail Away,” Cartman’s “Come Sail Away,” and “Sailing…Takes Me Away” by some one-hit-wonder whom, I imagine, probably looks like my dad, maybe has the same Cat Stevens beard and whatnot, and (b.) most sailing songs suck balls.

And while I applaud Awolnation for breaking the tradition of keeping songs about sailing light, airy, and as soothing as a wind-blown sheet in a Downey-ball-of-freshness commercial, I’m just not sure violently screaming at the listener to take up boat transportation is the best approach for getting someone out to sea. Maybe it’s just me, but I think I’d feel more comfortable having more than just maritime “law” standing between me and what sounds like a certifiable psychopath. Then again, as far as sailing songs go, this one kind of rocks.

Every time I see you, spork, all I can imagine is the day you were a spoon and had a horrific run-in with a pair of pinking shears that were like, “Get back here, spoon. I’m giving you a bris!”

Then I can barely even stomach my KFC mashed potatoes. It totally doesn’t help that you’re dyed bright red…blood red. I haven’t been this nauseated by a utensil since I first witnessed that disgusting scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere teaches Julia Roberts how to use a slug scooper.

And another thing, spork:

A lot of people are fans of you. They think the spork is such a creative idea. Ooo, you’re a combination of two utensils. I’m so impressed by a lame ass, hybrid spoon fork. Well you’re not a centaur. You’re not anything as cool as the mythical 50/50 man/beast. You’re just two elements known to cause over 312 household accidents a year, many of which involve eye trauma. I disapprove.

See? Sometimes it’s not such a great idea to combine a bunch of junk and walk away. Where do we draw the line? Today we’re eating off sporks and tomorrow we’ll all be drinking from cupchetes. That’s right, a half cup, half machete. That’ll be a great way to start the day. You go for your morning glass of juice and you end up a screaming, blood-spattered mess that proves once again OJ kills.

Well, you’re not fooling me. You are nothing more than a mutilated gateway utensil to the Swiss Army mug. I don’t know about everyone else, but I don’t really want to lean back for a sip of coffee and Edward Scissorhand my face to death.

Think about the last time we witnessed the coming together of two dangerous objects. The creators of Sin City concocted an amalgam with a prosthetic leg and an AK47. Also led to blood loss and death.

So, listen up, spork. I’m about to use my first amendment rights to take you down. You thought those PETA freaks protesting electrocuting chickens were bad? Well, just wait till you get a load of my grotesque anti-spork signage. It’ll feature you, your chopped off tip, and me vomiting semi-digested tater paste all over your bloody wreckage. Oh yeah. You haven’t been this scared since arts and crafts time at the senior citizens’ home.

See you Saturday, spork. I’ll be the angry picketer championing your demise with celebrity guest speaker Lorena Bobbitt on the megaphone and I’m pretty sure she won’t be as conservative as those pinking shears. Sleep tight, sporky, because tomorrow you’ll be lying in a field wishing you hadn’t tried to show off so much, you freaky overachiever.