Why DID the Chicken Cross the Road?

This age old question must have been asked down the years.
But exactly how might some historical worthies have put it …

For the greater good.

Karl Marx: 
It was a historical inevitability.

So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken’s dominion maintained.

Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.

Jacques Derrida:
Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Thomas de Torquemada: 
Give me ten minutes with the chicken and he’ll be screaming the answer.

Timothy Leary: 
Because that’s the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.

Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Oliver North: 
National security was at stake so we gave it an unofficial, non-attributable escort.

B.F. Skinner: 
Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.

Carl Jung: 
The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.

Jean-Paul Sartre: 
In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Ludwig Wittgenstein: 
The possibility of “crossing” was encoded into the objects “chicken” and “road”, and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

Albert Einstein: 
Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

To realise its potential.

If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Howard Cosell: 
It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurrence.

Salvador Dali: 
The Fish crosses to heaven.

It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Emily Dickinson: 
Because it could not stop for death.

For its own pleasure.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: 
It didn’t cross the road; it transcended it.

Johann von Goethe: 
The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway: 
To die. Alone and in the rain.

Werner Heisenberg: 
We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but we do know it was moving very fast.

David Hume: 
Out of custom and habit.

Jack Nicholson: 
‘Cause it (censored) wanted to. That’s the (censored) reason.

Pyrrho the Sceptic: 
What road?

Ronald Reagan: 
I forget but let’s bomb that road.

John Sununu: 
The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.

The Sphinx: 
You tell me.

Mr. T: 
If you saw me coming you’d cross the road too!

Henry David Thoreau: 
To live deliberately … and suck all the marrow out of life.

Mark Twain: 
The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

Germaine Greer: 
She was a hen, escaping the cockocratic hegemony to find her sisters.

Zeno of Elea: 
To prove it could never reach the other side.

So priketh hem nature in hir corages.

To wander lonely as a cloud.

Philosophy will clip a chicken’s wings.

To see heaven in a wild fowl.


Dr Johnson: 
Sir, had you known the Chicken for as long as I have, you would not so readily enquire, but feel rather the need to resist such a public display of your own lamentable and incorrigible ignorance.

Mrs Thatcher: 
This chicken’s not for turning.

Supreme Soviet: 
It did not. There never was a chicken in this photograph.

Oscar Wilde: 
Why, indeed? One’s social engagements whilst in town ought never to expose one to such barbarous inconvenience – although, perhaps, if one must cross a road, one may do far worse than to cross it as did the chicken in question.

Hardly the most urgent enquiry to make of a low-grade insurance clerk who woke up that morning as a hen.

It is, of course, inevitable that such a loathsome, filth-ridden and degraded creature as Man should assume to question the actions of one in all respects his superior.

To have turned back were as tedious as to go o’er.

Clearly, having fallen victim to the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.

From ego, though more precisely from the struggle of super-ego and id.

That is not the question.

It crosseth for thee.

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