EH, couldn’t you tell that I was hoping you’d ask?
(Answer: Because there’s no plate like chrome for the hollandaise.)
Should the teller of jokes like the one above be subject to severe punishments involving tickling?
Even as I thank **Spoons **for sharing that terrible, awful, no-good punchline, may I agree with your assessment, Catsie?
What do you get when you cross a bridge with a car?
[ 
I guess I should add eggscellent. And as some here may remember, I know from hollandaise.]
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Don’t we all dream of a world in which a chicken can cross the road without having its motives questioned?
Do you really want to live in a world of jay-walking chickens?
Didn’t the chicken cross the road to read a riddle?
Or was it to look for another pecker?
Chappaquiddick?
But can you really trust a chicken?
Would you believe “to the other side?”
What is it about chickens that makes us so suspicious?
Is it possible that you’re a speciesist, Catsie?
How dare you make such a fowl accusation?
How did you come up with that pun?
Aren’t you putting the “pun” in “punishment”?
Is that any better than putting the “fun” in “Fundamentalism”?
Has anybody lost a friend or relative, and decided to put the “fun” in “funeral”?
Did you know you can’t spell Saturday without turd?
Or that Earth without art would just be “eh”?