Why did the chicken cross the road
George W. Bush's Answer:
Look, it's tough crossin' the road. The chicken knows it's tough. The American people have got to understand that I know the chicken knows it's tough. I read the report. But the chicken's on the march. And it will get the job done .
Albert Einstein's Answer:
That depends on the observer's inertial frame of reference.
Mr. Spock's Answer:
Did the chicken cross the road? If he crossed the road certainly he had no reason to as a chicken as it would mean expending more effort than the food he would find on the other side could provide the energy for. If he crossed the road.... that can only mean that Colonel Sanders was close behind and closing in on him. Captain- if we can approach Colonel Sanders from the correct approaching angle, we may stop him from strangling the chicken. *looks pensive, then checks Captain*.
Cast of Lost's Answer:
Jack Sheppard: I don't know, maybe the chicken was just moving in that direction. Why does it have to mean anything that it crossed the road?
John Locke: The Island demanded that the chicken cross at that moment.
Sawyer: Why are you so interested in the damn chicken, Colonel Sanders? Tired of mangos?
Sayid, calmly: I know more about chickens and the use of them crossing roads than I care to remember. I don't know what is more disturbing. The fact that that chicken has crossed the road, or that it has only three toes.
Early Shannon: Ohmygod Boone, why should we care if the chicken crossed the road or not? It has nothing to do with us.
Hugo "Hurley" Reyes: Dude, did you see a chicken come this way?
Malcolm X's Answer:
The chicken didn't cross that road, the road crossed that chicken.
Bob Dylan's Answer:
How many roads must a chicken then cross, before you call him a rooster?
Norah Jones's Answer:
"Don't know why the chicken decided to cross the road alone."
Sarah McLachlan's Answer:
Listen as the chicken crosses the road's great divide. The joke is its companion and that chicken won't be denied!"
Coldplay's Answer:
"The chicken crossed the road for you and everything you did. And the chicken was all yellow."
Joni Mitchell's Answer:
"The chickens looked at roads from both sides now, but still somehow its the roads illusion it recalls. Chickens don't really know roads at all."
Cat Steven's Answer:
"The chicken had so much left to know so it went on the road to find out."
Louis Armstrong's Answer:
"If you have to ask why chickens cross roads you'll never know."
Billie Holiday's Answer:
"If a chicken takes a notion to cross a road or ocean. Well it ain't nobody's business if it do."
Enya's Answer:
"The great journey that was before the chicken then was what was destined to be. Now the chicken is sorrowful, the road is long past." (When translated from Irish Gaelic)
Loreena McKennitt's Answer:
"Have you heard of the chicken that crossed the road? Nee hee hee and me bonnie fowl. It crossed the road for the sake of a rooster."
Tori Amos's Answer:
"It heard its cluck, it heard its cluck, and it had been years. But the chicken had been here, not crossing roads all these years."
Fleetwood Mac's Answer:
"Oh, take my wing, eat it down. I crossed that road and I turned around. If you see my reflection at the KFC. Well the Buick fender brought me down."
George W. Bush's Answer:
We'll have the Colonel ready for any eventuality, and we're pretty sure we'll nab him at the least likely place for a chicken to cross, so that'll make it pretty easy for us, as soon as we can figure where that will be. I have our boys working on that one. They're getting the buckets ready .
John F. Kennedy's Answer:
Whyyy...did the chicken, cross the road?
*thumps podium*
He crossed the road... to give his life.
He did it,... not for himself,.......... but he did it... for his fellow chickens.
As a warning,...
And a brave and noble thing it was... that he did.
Dana Scully's Answer:
The simplest explanation is the most likely, now calm down and start behaving rationally.
Mythbusters's Answer:
If you fire a frozen chicken out of a cannon; not only will it cross a road, it could be a lethal projectile.
Clement Clarke Moore's Answer:
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
The chickens were scurrying
Til scared by a mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
But the chickens, the chickens were no longer there
They had crossed the road hoping that Saint Nick would visit them there.
The Cast of House's Answer:
Cameron: We should watch the chicken, but not force it or manipulate it. Find out what that tells us about its past actions, but not do anything dishonest.
Chase: It's just a chicken. It was probably running away from some fat American kid.
Foreman: You're both wrong it's a neurological reaction to stimuli. Come on people.
House: Actually you're all wrong. The real question is why should we care? The answer is we shouldn't. Next case. Oh and give me my damn pills!
Jules Verne's Answer:
Under a 125 F.At 36 degree North and 115 degree East, and at 03:00 GMT, Professor Chicken entered history as his Cannon propelled him through the road.
Sherlock Holmes's Answer:
I deduce this was a Rock Island hen, eleven months old, and that it was kept in a mesh cage composed of galvanized iron. Surely Watson, you can see this is a festive Sunday afternoon, and the chicken is but one step ahead of the family stew pot.
Albert Camus's Answer:
Why did he cross the road? There is no why, the question is meaningless. The way his claws felt on the pavement, the heat of the sun on his feathered back -- these sensations were all that mattered.
Mr. T's Answer:
To escape the construction of a bypasss and to find a towel and a decent cup of tea.
NIETZSCHE's Answer:
The chicken who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run across the road; one cannot fly into flying.
Gene Roddenberry 's Answer:
Why did the chicken cross the road? To boldly go where no chicken has gone before!
Karl Marx's Answer:
To spread the international organization of the chicken-proletariat in their class-struggle against the heinous bourgouisie child-killing egg-frying capitalist farmer-class. He was carrying unifying propaganda meant to instill the virtues and fervor of the labor struggle against the alienating psychological effects of egg-stealing by the evil capitalists. An egg-cott was in the offing: the very foundations of the international capitalist egg-conspiracy were to be shaken by the balk and refusal to lay of all working-chickens everywhere! The fox, an agent of the oppressive bourgouisie, saw his crossing, and ate him: dichotimized in his relations of production, suffering the ultimate alienation of the worker from his labors, the chicken's story is merely further evidence that the worker-chicken cannot escape his labor-role in the cog of the capitalist conspiracy until all laborers everywhere, of whatever specie, are united in their stand against the alienating forces of international exploitative capitalistisic egg-consumption!
J.R.R. Tolkien's Answer:
The Road goes ever on and on. It can be dangerous to step out into it, for the Road that starts at your front door leads to Rivendell and wilder places, and you can easily be swept away. If you are a chicken, it can lead to BBQ.
EMILY BRONTE's Answer:
The warm spring breeze was light in its touch upon the moors, and the stony brook babbled past the kirk yard as Chickerine approached the road. Though a sheltered young lady, contact with the handsome usurper Heathcluck had excited her womanish passions. Come what may, in foolish defiance of my seasoned advice, she would cross it, and meet her fate upon the Heights.
Isaac Asimov's Answer:
The chicken crossed the road because of the third law of chickenhood which states that a chicken must disobey the direct order of a human unless doing so forces it to break the first or second law of chickenhood.
JOSEPH CONRAD's Answer:
Looking back, I can only guess as to why the chicken crossed the road. Was it something inside him, something flawed, doomed; something searching - impossibly - both outward and inward, seeking to find that which is necessarily unfindable in his own heart - in all our hearts? Was it some terrible knowledge of the "truth of things" which he'd gleaned from his years with the wild chickens - beyond the civilizing reach of coop and farm? When the native purser arrived at my stateroom and uttered his now famous words, "Mr. Chicken - he crossed the road," I remember feeling relief. Yes, relief. Not surprise. Not sadness. Not horror. Word spread quickly enough. Soon some of the other gentlemen on the riverboat gathered at the topdeck table, around the kerosene lantern, under a sky as black and as endless as the chicken's road. I sensed relief in them as well. And it hit me, as I lit my pipe - with trembling hand, if you must know - that we none of us could afford to go further, to hear any more of Mr. Chicken's unsettling chirping, as we might ourselves be tempted to cross our own roads. Suddenly, the night became immense. The cries of the monkeys in the vines along the far banks became deafeningly shrill. The paddling of the riverboat became like the beating of a heart, a heart of darkness.
HENRY JAMES's Answer:
To experience that certain dream-like, singularly individual sensation; so very much like floating in a grey, sweeping oceanic tide, pulled first to sea then allowed to eddy slowly back, yet somehow progressing on both an infinitessimal and a universal scale, and so much so that one forgets his bearings and his course; which chickens throughout time, and indeed others, too, perhaps you and I, have sought out; namely, the rawness, the unadulterated trueness, the incomprehensible "thatness" of empirical induction which comes from actual movement within the physical world; in short, if I may say, to "live," yes, I say again, to "live" in the here, and the now, among the living, the breathing, and to - one might suppose, given the unsatisfactory alternatives - revel in that "living."
Virginia Woolf's Answer:
As soon as she stepped into the road, her mind drifted back; back, to Farmer Brown, whose rough hands had clasped her neck so tightly; to the woodshed; to the ax; to the stump over which she had been stretched; and then, the wriggling; and the miraculous escape; through endless fields of sunlight and wildflowers; through barbwire fences and the leaf-cushioned autumn forest; and to the highway, the endless highway, which she found herself crossing now; to the moment, this moment, when she should have been paying attention to the road instead of reminiscing; but alas, too late: splat.
Dante's Answer:
IN the midway of the chicken's mortal life,
It found itself near a road, not astray
Gone from the path indirect: and e'en to tell
It were an easy task, th road mild
That road, how weak and smooth its growth,
Which to remember only, its colors gay
Renews, in joyful course far from death.
Yet to discourse of what there danger befell,
All else will be related discover'd there.
Philip K. Dick's Answer:
"What chicken? What road? Neither of them are real.
"Neither are you."
J.R.R. Tolkien's Answer:
In the foul and perpetual darkness of Mordor the road wound like an ugly gash across the hideous landscape. Chanting horribly, the heavily armored orc army marched drearily down the road. As the last of the foul creatures disappeared into the fell darkness, a fowl creature leapt out from behind a hideous skull shaped boulder and dashed across the road. Feathers quivering with fear, it huddled down while it desperately clucked to itself "I won't go to Mount Doom. I won't. I won't. I won't."
William Gibson's Answer:
The road the chicken crossed was the color of a television tuned to static.
Friedrich Nietzsche's Answer:
Because he willed himself to do so.
Rod Serling's Answer:
Submitted for your approval. Imagine if you will, a chicken. He goes by the moniker of Clucky. To his friends and family, he is a fixture in their lives, no more unique than a light switch. One night, walking along the road after his shift at the munitions plant had ended, Clucky looked across and saw an old man in a white suit, a black shoestring tie. A door appeared and the elderly gentleman stepped inside. The light from this mysterious door lingered. Clucky took a look to the left. Then a look to the right. His next few steps would take him across the road, into the Twilight Zone.
Isaac Asimov's Answer:
The Laws of Psychohistory foretold the chicken's journey millennia ago. Its consequenses shall not take full effect for another seven centuries.
The First Law of Chickenbotics states: Run around in as random a manner as possible, a requirement to cross all roads being the only exception.
Gary Larson's Answer:
To warn the cows that a car was coming.
Ray Bradbury's Answer:
The yellow feathery fowl, more like a beaten yolk than anything I had seen in recent memory, might have had purpose in crossing the road, and he might not have. But the purpose was defeated at the first sound of the whirring and bumppity bump of the big rubbershod automobile whose smelly black white shod shoes met the hopeless gray rock embedded pavement, cracked through with the hopes and dreams of travelers past and travelers to be, those who would not care one whit for a careless bird who too bounded by mental limitations to care himself and which sought the farther limits of a seemingly same expanse of ground, but in reality, does a chicken, yellow with Godâs purpose and hopelessly graceless covering, really think about the traveler in his wanderings? No. In parallel with mankindâs sameness in his seemingly purposeless life bounding down the same pavement, were he a chicken himself, would he do the same? Doubtless. But I digress already too much. And so the automobile, with the careless human with the same careless purpose, steamrolled the pavement constantly in search of similar helpless dumb fowl, and whose purpose was certainly none in likewise in same purpose as the little hapless fowl, whose fate was about to be determined partly past the continuous and parallel lines, the lines partaking of the color of a custard pie, but not so like a custard pie as the skin of a lemon. A lemon colored line it was that marked the point of no return for the hopeless creature, no more to be. Tried to be as flowery as could be.
Morpheus's Answer:
Neo, there is no chicken.
KURT VONNEGUT's Answer:
So be it.
The chicken's chemical makeup reacted as if it were some kind of puritannical harbinger of death.
(Even Jesus Christ would begin to repeat himself if he'd lived past 40).
Here is what a chicken's ass looks like:
William Gibson's Answer:
"They set a slamhound on the Bantam trail in New Delhi, slotted it to his pheromones and the color of his crest."
ERNEST HEMINGWAY's Answer:
It was a chicken, truly.
A. E. Housman's Answer:
His claws clacked across the ground
With the boundless folly of youth,
But on the other side he found
That death was the only truth.
Foghorn Leghorn's Answer:
That chick, ah say, that chicken crossed the road on account of I was after her tail feathers.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE's Answer:
Beware of entrance to the freeway; but being in,
Bear't that the opposed side may be obtained by thee,
Noble heart.
Lao Tzu's Answer:
There is no road.
Chuang Tzu's Answer:
Was the chicken crossing the road, or was the road crossing the chicken?
THE PRISONER's Answer:
Why did you cross the road, Number Six?
Do you seriously expect a response? Is that question directed at me? Surely not, as I am a chicken, of flesh and blood, wing and claw, not a number, and not - I might add - a party to this pathetic charade.
Come now, Number Six - let us put aside our customary banter. We have footage of you crossing the road, pursued by one of our security globes. Did you think to escape by crossing the road? To - perhaps - reach the tidal flats?
What I think is my own business - as I am not a creature under your sway like these other colorfully-attired, clown-like chickens.
There are no chickens here, Number Six. You and I know that. This village is the province of words. Important words. Words - as my predecessors have stressed - which you must utter in order to move, ahem, on. Two simple words, really. We don't ask much. Just an acknowledgment of reality.
Don't you mean lies? Isn't the truth of it that this village is a graveyard for chickens who have outlived their usefulness? Chickens of any color? White? Red? As a chicken who chooses self-determination over velocipedes, games of chess with actual chickens as pieces, ridiculous outfits, and golf carts with funny roofs, yes - I crossed the road. Why? Because I damn well felt like it. And you can go straight to Hell or whatever pressure cooker or deep fryer you came from.
Cindy Sheehan's Answer:
The chicken joined me and other Americans as we marched to President Bush's Texas ranch to protest the war in Iraq.
Mel Gibson's Answer:
Why do you think the chicken crossed the road? Because its a (censored) Jew. Jews think they can just (censored) cross the street whenever they want. Jewish chickens are responsible for all the wars in the world...are you a Jew??
Jim Gilchrist's Answer:
The chicken was an illegal immigrant. He not only crossed the road, but he also crossed the border! There are over 12 million illegal chickens in this country. My fellow Minutemen members have witnessed this for years while the feds do nothing about it.
Abu Musab al-Zarqawi's Answer:
The chicken crossed the holy road to resist the crusaders. Unfortunately, he was killed during the jihad. He has died a martyr.
Howard Stern's Answer:
I'm afraid to answer that because the FCC would fine me for it! Wait until I'm on satellite radio, then I'll tell you.
Jose Canseco's Answer:
The chicken was juiced up on steroids! Mark McGwire and I would shoot the chicken in the buttocks everyday after baseball practice. All the details are in my new book.
Jose Canseco's Answer:
The chicken was juiced up on steroids! Mark McGwire and I would shoot the chicken in the buttocks everyday after baseball practice. All the details are in my new book.
Jessica Simpson 's Answer:
Why would he be on a road, I thought chickens lived in the ocean?
