Ques: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: How does he feel about the cats? Options: - They loved him. - They were good cats. - not enough information - They enjoyed his company. === The correct answer is

Ans:They were good cats.
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Ques:I have a chronic illness, and so I received quite a few sterling gems in the months between onset and accurate diagnosis. I had one GP let's call him Dr Douche. I promise, it's the kindest way I could describe him. "The jacket means I know things." He came up with wilder and wilder theories as to why I was sick, and kept getting sicker. It should be said beforehand that few of these theories were embodied. He was sure it was something in my ladybrains that was preventing proper function of the rest of me. Dr Douche said so much weird, wild, and just-plain-unbelievable crap over the course of my diagnosis that someday I may create a novel that incorporates it all. But this here has to be the blue ribbon winner. I was describing a symptom to him: every time I got up in the morning, when I first stood, my heart would pound, my heart rate would accelerate, and I'd feel dizzy. After a few probing questions (only in the morning? no, but it's worst in the morning) "Maybe," he said sensitively, "you're afraid." "Of standing?" I asked, just to be sure. "You think I'm afraid of standing up." Maybe he meant there was some kind of existential fear, like, we're all afraid, it's a big old universe out there, and he wanted some comfort and reassurance. Nope. The man genuinely thought I had such a profound fear of verticality, that I was having a near-panic in response to being upright. POTS, folks. It was POTS. Literally THE most common sign/symptom/syndrome of autonomic dysfunction. The most common one. He could've confirmed right there in the office with a poor man's tilt table test, if he knew to Mayo Clinic had to confirm with expensive instruments because he'd never heard of a disease that affects 1/100 teenagers and between 13 million people in the United States! Would've done better with this Doctor. Question: How long after going to Mayo Clinic did he get his diagnosis? Options: - 1 day - not enough information - 2 months - 2 years === The correct answer is

Ans:1 day
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Ques:I started reading beauty blogs rather than magazines because I loved their honesty. With magazines, I was always a little suspicious that the review wasn't true, that it was more an advertorial than an honest article. Blogs seemed more honest - I never distrusted the review. Plus they went into so much more depth than magazines ever did. I think that the day I discovered beauty blogs was probably also the day my magazine addiction came to an end. BUT, there is one issue that I do have with blogs and that is editing, or grammar to be more precise. Now, don't get me wrong, it is not all blogs that I have this issue with. In fact, the majority of blogs I do read are very well written. But, I still come across a few that don't know the difference between your & you're; where, we're & were; and their, there & they're and this is a massive pet hate of mine. The odd typo doesn't bother me. We all make them. I know I do as I usually only proof read once but repeatedly writing there instead of their or where instead of were drives me mental. I just want to bust out a red pen and edit the post. The carton below, which is floating around Facebook at the moment, was my inspiration for writing this post as it really highlights how, by making the slightest grammatical error, the entire meaning of the sentence changes. I suspect that, if you are a similar grammar fanatic, you are sitting here, nodding your head, thinking 'man, that drives me crazy, too!'. If you are not a grammar fanatic then you might be thinking 'hey, what are you whinging about - it is only a couple of letters out of order'. This is why it annoys me so much - I read a sentence but it doesn't quite make sense, so I have to go back and read it again to get an understanding. As soon as I start doing that, I am no longer reading the content of the post but am instead trying to decipher what is being written. As soon as I have stumbled over a few sentences I give up and stop reading. Question: After finding errors in blogs, how does she probably feel about the author of the blog? Options: - not enough information - They are annoying - They are untrustworthy - They are mental === The correct answer is

Ans:
They are untrustworthy
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