My old roommate’s cats, Clise and Monkey, were about as different as cats could be. Clise, rescued as an emaciated kitten from a local park, grew up to be morbidly obese. His interests mainly involved eating food, begging for food, or going around the neighborhood scrounging for food. He could hear a can opener from a mile away. Monkey was a more active cat. He liked to chase the laser pointer and was the first to run to the door when someone arrived. But he could also be lazy, lounging in a sunbeam or stretched out on the couch. Both of them liked to watch TV. Soon after I moved in, I started having health issues which necessitated a lot of time lounging around myself. This was the era of reality TV, back when much of it was actually good. The cats, Monkey especially, watched with me. Monkey definitely had his preferences. His favorite shows were The Girls Next Door and Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making The Team. Notice a theme here? Playboy Playmates and professional cheerleaders. Monkey liked his T & A (tits and ass). If one of these shows was on, and I turned it to Project Runway or something, Monkey would march off. But as soon as I turned it back, and he could hear the high-pitched giggling, he’d come running back. Clise’s favorite shows were Top Chef, Iron Chef, and Rachael Ray. Food porn. If there was something he especially craved, like a shrimp stir-fry, he’d assume a begging pose, right in front of the TV, as if Rachael might take pity on him and throw him a scrap or two. I moved out about a year later. A few months previous, Monkey ended up catching some wasting disease and dying, but Clise, as far as I know, is still there, begging for scraps from anyone he can — in real life or televised. Question: Who abandoned Clise? Options:  A. Its owner.  B. Its feral family.  C. not enough information  D. Its mother.  === The correct answer is
C

My dearest Lily, Forgive me. I would be with you now, rather than closeted in my study, but I do not wish you or our children to witness my demise. I love you. I tell you now, so that you will know that my last thought was of you. I have placed my affairs in order -- do not fear, my love, you will be well provided for -- all that is required of my remaining time is to explain the events which have led to my death. Though the scene will seem so similar to my elder brother's death, I would not wish you to think I had taken my own life in the manner in which Edmund took his. When Dr V came to see me some weeks ago, he brought with him the bottle of strychnine that now sits empty upon my desk. He was in high spirits, because his latest alchemical experiment had been a success, and brought the strychnine in order to demonstrate the efficacy of his elixir. In truth, his very presence could be considered proof, since he had been dead earlier that morning, but, as I had not witnessed his revival, he wished me to see the results first hand. At his request, I summoned the chambermaid, while he prepared a syringe of strychnine. I thought he would ask her to procure a hen or some such thing for use in his demonstration however, when she arrived, Dr V-- plunged the syringe into her arm with no warning. I leapt from my chair, but before I could do more than cross the room, the strychnine took effect with results that horrified me. Even though I had complete confidence in Dr V's elixir, I could not restrain a cry of dismay as the chambermaid's head tilted back in a sudden convulsion. Her lips tightened, giving her the appearance of laughter and she dropped to her knees, clawing at her throat. Her back arched, pitching her over so that she lay with only her head and heels touching the carpet. Question: How long is the chambermaid was probably dead for? Options:  A. a month  B. a few minutes  C. a few days  D. not enough information  === The correct answer is
B

As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye. "I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek. "Julie, I told you. Darby took the box." "I get that, but--." "The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved. "Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week." "Hey, I told you not to go digging--. " "I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there." So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital." Question: What was in the box? Options:  A. Dingo's old photos  B. not enough information  C. His mother's letters  D. Some toys  === The correct answer is

B