Ques: I don’t see a point. That’s the biggest problem with my life currently. I honestly, don’t see a point. Am I working towards temporary monetary gain? Is my goal supposed to be buying my dream car(s)? Is my goal spiritual? I’m currently Catholic, but I’ve seen how spiritually those around me have changed. I’ve even wondered what’s the point of heaven, if everything I want is there. I like life because of the ups and the downs. I enjoy learning and discovering new things. The idea of perfection seems like an impossible concept to me. Maybe even an unenjoyable one. Maybe my goal is to have a family. Being catholic naturally we gravitate towards larger families. But as a libertarian I don’t see a lot of potential in the United States at it pertains to economic freedoms. I see the government encroaching more and more into our lives. Is this the type of country I want to raise a family in? I certainly don’t want to be outside the United States (no offense towards anyone outside of the U.S). Maybe my goal is political. I’ve always wanted to run for office. Maybe governor one day. Would I be able to avoid the waves of bipartisanship, and actually do what I believe is the best for the people of my state. Or would I collapse under the political pressures and sign up for agreements I know in my heart and mind won’t help the people. Only time will tell. I just don’t see a point. I actually have many goals, but I struggle to see the overall point of accomplishing any of it. Especially seeing as anything I do will be lost in the ink-blots of history. When did the person become a Catholic? - before the person had a family - after the person had a family - not enough information - after being elected for office
Ans: before the person had a family

Ques: Dark meat in the can--brown, oily, and flecked with mucus--gave off a repellent, fishy smell, and the taste of it rose in his throat, putrid and bitter, like something from a dead man's stomach. George Jordan sat on the kitchen floor and vomited, then pushed himself away from the shining pool, which looked very much like what remained in the can. He thought, No, this won't do: I have wires in my head, and they make me eat cat food. The snake likes cat food He needed help but know there was little point in calling the Air Force. He'd tried them, and there was no way they were going to admit responsibility for the monster in his head. What George called the snake, the Air Force called Effective Human Interface Technology and didn't want to hear about any postdischarge problems with it. They had their own problems with congressional committees investigating "the conduct of the war in Thailand." He lay for a while with his cheek on the cold linoleum, got up and rinsed his mouth in the sink, then stuck his head under the faucet and ran cold water over it, thinking, Call the goddamned multicomp, then call SenTrax and say, "Is it true you can do something about this incubus that wants to take possession of my soul?" And if they ask you, "What's your problem?" you say "cat food," and maybe they'll say, "Hell, it just wants to take possession of your lunch" A chair covered in brown corduroy stood in the middle of the barren living room, a white telephone on the floor beside it, a television flat against the opposite waIl--that was the whole thing, what might have been home, if it weren't for the snake. He picked up the phone, called up the directory on its screen, and keyed TELECOM SENTRAX. Why did George vomit? - not enough information - Because he was repulsed by the cat food. - Because he called the Air Force. - Because of the war in Thailand.
Ans: Because he was repulsed by the cat food.

Ques: Jimbob Blakey wasn't so much given birth to as clambered right out of his mother himself. He weighed in at almost thirteen pounds, came ready-fitted with a shock of fat black hair and a couple of razor teeth. Jimbob's folks loved him like most folks love their little ones, maybe more. They'd been trying so hard for a child, suffered more mid-term miscarriages than the ewes they shuttled off to market most Thursdays. They dressed him in a one-year babygro and took him home to their hill farm. They fought to get up nights and give him his milk. His teeth made breast-feeding impossible. They sat hours gazing down in his cot. They dressed him fine and took him to their church and gave their thanks. Showed him off like the proud parents they were. Others cooed and smiled. But they never asked to hold. They gave thanks the Blakeys were happy, and that the monkey-baby had not been born to them. Jimbob's folks never gave a second thought that their boy might be different. The first Spring he walked, he stomped the moors in his welly-boots helping herd the pregnant ewes down in-by. He copied his father, kicking and cuffing at the stragglers, when the flock was returned to the hills in May. As Jimbob grew, his hair became thicker, his arms longer. His head shrunk down on his shoulders. At check-ups, nurses fixed smiles and pronounced him healthy. Doctors said, 'he'll make you a strapping lad.' His mother smiled, her heart swelled. When he was three, she sent him to nursery. She wanted him to mix with other kids. To taste life off the hard hills. She said, 'it'll do him the world of good.' Jimbob hated leaving the farm. He clung to his mother. She drove away, blinking tears. On the third day, she took a phone call. 'It's Jimbob,' they said. 'He's scaring the other kids.'The truth hit Jimbob's mother like a hammer. what is probably true about jimbob? - not enough information - they adopted a monkey - he was not really his parents child - he was different
Ans:
he was different