Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road? Funny Answers to a very old joke

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road? 



It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

And God came down from the heavens and He said unto the chicken, “Thou shalt cross the road.” And the chicken crossed the road and there was much rejoicing.

To steal a job from a decent, hardworking American.

HILLARY CLINTON: I’m glad my staff asked you to ask me that question. I chaired the senate chicken investigation which sought to determine exactly why this is happening and what we can do to stop it. I have a great deal of experience with chickens. I’m also very very likable and nice, isn’t that right Mom?

Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically dispositioned to cross roads.

Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken is a matter of relativity.

The chicken did not cross the road. It transcended it.

Because the chicken was gay! Isn’t it obvious? Can’t you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the “other side.” That’s what “they” call it: the “other side.” Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like “the other side.” That chicken should not be free to cross the road. It’s as plain and simple as that.

The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.

I have just released the new Chicken Visa , which will not only cross roads, but will also lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook; and compete with Apple’s Smooth Eagle.

In my day, we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken had crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.

To die. In the rain. Alone.

I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question.

To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was.

It was a historical inevitability.

Finally, a question about something I know about. Down at the ranch in West Texas, we used to hunt chickens and they’d run across the road, where my brother would run over them with a truck.  That’s what you call resourcingfulness, and I’m full of it.

Why does anyone cross a road? I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever think to ask, “What the heck was this chicken doing walking around all over the place, anyway? What is wrong with that chicken?

Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes! The chicken crossed the road but why it crossed, I’ve not been told.

Page topic: Why did the chicken cross the road joke: answers from celebs and historical figures

22 thoughts on “Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road? Funny Answers to a very old joke”

  1. omg, haha there should be a dr.phil one too.
    dr.phil: well we must first answer the question: how did the chicken feel a bout that?

  2. A Short Exposition on the Decision of a Common Domestic Fowl to Cross the Road
    John Steinbeck, sort of

    During the millennia that man has raised poultry, never did it occur to him that the chicken, however humble in abode, however primal in instincts, may be a creature capable of profound insight and even occasional wisdom.

    Chickens don’t resent this.

    Unlike their human masters, whose mental condition is burdened by the pursuit of monetary gains, savory mates, and harmonious household circumstance, chickens, relegated to a stable — if less-than-sterile — domestic position, cannot be bothered with such relatively un-cerebral trivialities. To the rooster, the farmer’s food is plentiful, the choice of hens is usually abundant, and tomorrow is only foreseen as that time to yet again crow the recumbent sun into its natural wakeful duties with a boastful, if dutiful, “Huzzah!” in the appropriate poultry dialect.

    And the hens, despite their scattered barnyard attentions and palsied, frenetic motions towards food or feeder, have no cause to ponder the metaphysical significance of any of the day’s routine: seeking sustenance, egg production, or the comical advances of the cock-o’-the-walk.

    It is perhaps the apparent simplicity of the chicken’s situation that has caused man to underestimate the penetrating contemplation of which the famed Rhode Island Red and its myriad domestic cousins are capable. And it is perhaps man’s indifference towards the beady-eyed beast that has led him to entertain the possibilities of fowl introspection only in the realm of the jocular.

    At the church picnic, at the conclave of the Royal Order of Elks, in the tavern over a cold ale, in the schoolyard, and undoubtedly even in the hallways of congress, a single, oft-repeated interrogation echoes across the Nation with a frequency unsurpassed by any other monologue short of the Pledge of Allegiance – that of the mental post of a chicken considering crossing the road.

    “Why?” we ask. Year after year, picnic after picnic, ale after ale. “Why did the chicken,” who presumably had a significant say in the matter, “why indeed did it cross the road?”

    Man does not qualify the question. Man is only interested in the range of possible answers for his own selfish amusement.

    Furthermore, no thought is given to the chicken’s most basic conundrum: Cross at great risk, or stay, and be forever unfulfilled. The man does not consider this most elementary presupposition, because the man, confident in his mastery of all the Earth’s species, is certain that the chicken is incapable of approaching such perplexity with anything beyond a cluck.

    Neither are any specifics given to make the animal’s choice easier. No mention is given of the type of road. Is it a table-flat superhighway, spanning the horizons of the country’s midsection like a smooth concrete belt around the waist of some cosmic giant? Is it instead a pleasant wooded byway, tunneling through the pine forests of New England, or perhaps a bustling city avenue, crisscrossed by ubiquitous yellow taxicabs?

    Our subject fowl is posed the same root issue by even a lowly, overgrown bison trail in the most distant rural reaches of our prairie, upon which aboriginal hunters made regular, arduous sojourns long before the delicate breast meat of a tender, coop-raised hen could ambushed at the local grocer’s.

    When the dust of another millennium of chicken-raising settles, perhaps an enlightened scientist from one of our finer academic institutions will at last encounter some biological or chemical nuance in the makeup of a hen that reveals what only the hen herself knows today. This scientist will be scorned in the press, ridiculed over coffee in faculty lounges, and subject to terminations of financial assistance for posing the outlandish if ultimately correct hypothesis that extinguishes the rhetorical fires of the absurd inquisition once and for all.

    For no one likes the truth in these matters, no matter how much it is demanded.

    The chicken, its true motivation having been revealed at last, is certain then to be ignored by all but the insane and the enlightened. We will find it poised on the opposite embankment, a distant shore of gravel or weeded ruts or jersey barriers, beady eyes sparkling, comb standing high in a gumdrop red coiffure, its wattle bouncing jauntily in a trailing vortex of dust with each passing vehicle. Its secret safe for the ages.

  3. just google “why did the chicken cross the road” and i bet you will find like a hundred jokes

    …but i still liked these the best!!!

  4. To any untrained eye, it was just a road, but the chicken, being highly superior to Earth’s dominent species, was looking into a portal that would be his ascending moment into a far greater world.

Leave a Comment