There’s an old joke email that’s gone ’round the web about a zillion times (the kind of thing your quirky uncle — or in my case, my quirky father-in-law — still forwards you daily) that asks the question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” and gives the answers of many favorite authors. My favorite was always Ernest Hemingway:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To die. In the rain.
Maybe I only think it’s funny because I had to do an excruciating term paper in high school English comparing …