input with options: September 2006, and deep in the bowels of the Adam Street private members' club in London a very special group of people is crammed into a private room, supping imported Spanish beer from a free bar. The value - on paper at least - of the companies owned by those squeezed into this tiny, boiling space would dwarf the debt of a small African nation. Among those present are some of the key players in Europe's Internet industry. The content creators, the entrepreneurs, the inventors, the investors; these are the new media moguls. And tonight they're in their element. I'm hiding at the back of the room getting slowly drunk with the event's organiser, an entrepreneur who helped raise a ridiculous sum of money for a business networking site that had projected revenues of precisely zero. His mantra, he tells me, is 'revenue is the enemy'. It's not clear what that means, but I have to admit it sounds great. A microphone is being passed around and we're watching and listening as a succession of young - mostly under forty - men - they're mostly men - rattle off their CVs and their future plans. 'He,' whispers my drinking buddy, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at a short, well-groomed man wearing a yellow checked jacket and bright red trousers, 'was in the FT yesterday. Apparently BT are going to buy the company he co-founded for half a billion dollars.' 'Fuck,' I half-whisper back. One habit you soon pick up, hanging out with dot com entrepreneurs, is swearing. 'That's a terrible fit. It's like Friends Reunited* all over again. What the hell are BT going to do with them?' 'Nothing.' 'Nothing?' 'No, the story's bullshit. Totally made up. And they fucking printed it. ' 'Fuck.' 'Of course they printed it. They called the investors to check it out, but they refused to comment. So they ran it as a "rumour". And why not? It wouldn't exactly be the most outrageous deal of the year, would it?' He has a point. According to the above context, answer the following question. When did the narrator got drunk?
OPTIONS:
- I did not drink at the party
- After party started.
- not enough information
- Before party started
output: After party started.

Q: This was 20 years ago, maybe. My girlfriend (at the time) and I were planning to go on a day trip on a Saturday, and so the Friday night before, we decided to celebrate our mini vacation by having a few drinks at a local bar. It was a known hangout for bikers, and had a reputation of being a rowdy place, but I was on good terms with a few of the regulars, and felt safe enough. As the night wore on, I started getting out of control, and didn't even realize it. I loved my girlfriend deeply, and had no desire to be with anyone else, but that night I was most definitely not myself. I was told that I openly flirted with the barmaid in front of my girlfriend, bet and lost on the pool table several times, and tried to start fights with some of the patrons, as I strongly suspected that someone had slipped something into my drink. At the time, I was a seasoned drinker, and the amount of alcohol I had consumed that night was pretty minimal in comparison, so naturally I was convinced that someone was messing with me. To this day I'm still not sure if my drinks were spiked, or it was just one of those nights. I do know that I hadn't eaten prior to that, so I would tend to choose the latter culprit, even though it pained me to admit it. I woke up the next afternoon in my own bed, with no memory of the trip home, a screaming hangover headache, and no girlfriend. She eventually forgave me, and we were together off and on for a few more years before we grew apart. I haven't set foot in that bar since, so I have no idea if I'm barred, or how the people there felt about me. I hope they've moved on, but I'm still too scared to find out. It's an experience I never want to repeat, even though I didn't actually experience anything. :/ According to the above context, answer the following question. The blackout probably lasted how long?

OPTIONS:
- several hours
- not enough information
- two days
- 4 days

A: several hours

It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall. She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus. Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl. 'Why is this bowl not full?' she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf. Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. According to the above context, answer the following question. Immediately after the end of this text, happens to Celenda?

OPTIONS:
- She lives happily ever after.
- not enough information
- She becomes a kind character.
- She is overthrown.

Answer:
She is overthrown.