Fork it over

Sometime in the past 12 hours, all of the forks in my house appear to have magically disappeared. 

This, during my mad search for a dinner utensil, has led to me having plenty of time to consider how such an event could have occurred.

My favorite scenario to this point is imagining some sort of Silence Of The Lambs-esque psycho murderer stealing all my forks so he could splice them together into sporks. 

Or a Fork Rapture, where all the forks in the world rise into heaven, poking holes into the angel's feet.

I will make more cohesive sense once I actually eat something. Of course in order to do that, I need a fork.