I had this one guy, who enjoyed being a part time bully and part time neutral to me. To say the least he was annoying. He'd take the liberty to hide my backpack, borrow my books without consent, doodle scandalous stuff on my notebooks with a pen and yada yada. So one day, I was showing this cool trick I learned on an anatomy program on the TV to a couple of classmates who used to sit around me. The thing was that you can't flex your ring finger upwards if you put your middle finger under the palm (try that) We were all kids, and soon everyone in the class started staring at us weirdos looking laughing at out hands. The bully noticed it too, and came near to inquire about this hand stuff. I described the trick and he was impressed. And then, I saw our teacher walking up the corridor, just a couple paces behind the class door. So, I asked him (the bully) if he wanted to see another trick and to that he nodded a big yes. Cool, What I did was, that I grabbed his right arm by the thumb and put it on my throat right above the larynx. Then I quickly shifted my grip to his wrist. He without batting an eye, asked what I was doing, but then I started beating the desk with my other hand and made squeaking noises while pushing his hand against my throat harder with every turning head. And voila! Every one in the class (including the teacher) thought he was smothering me. After a few ifs and buts between him and the teacher, he was summoned at the principal's chambers, from where, later he was sent home, where presumably judging from the look on his face for the next few days, he was beat to crap by his folks. And after that, never was I ever bothered by anyone in the school.(^^) Question: The trick lasted for: Options: - a few minutes - a few weeks - not enough information - a few hours === The correct answer is
a few hours

(Question)
I loved the little guy from the day she brought him home. She carried him wrapped in a sweatshirt from the shelter at the corner where she'd been saying for months she was going to go. She set him down on the hardwood floor and he clipped around like a fawn - - clip, clip -- looking through doorways and carefully eyeing us both. He was tiny but he was strong. He was muscular and sleek, like a miniature greyhound, and we both watched intently as he clipped around, soldiering things out and whining under his breath. Miss Tennessee looked at me and smiled and said: "Well honey? What do you think?" And I told her: "I love the little guy." He was never really my dog. He was more like my step-dog, but together we named him Steve. We thought it was funny, giving a dog a man's name like that. But it fit, like Miss Tennessee, which I started just to tease her about being full-grown and long- legged and pretty, but in a tomboyish way that made it both absolutely ridiculous and absolutely plausible that she had ever been Miss Anything. It always made her swallow a grin. Steve's name, on the other hand, made it sound like he wasn't a dog at all, but this little man. Miss Tennessee often called him that: the little man. Steve liked me okay but he loved Miss Tennessee. With me it was man things. After he got snipped or when he was stung by bees, down there, in grass that came up to his chin, he would come sit by me, hoping I'd understand. With her, it was everything else. When she took a bath, he stood with his paws on the side of the tub, and when she went someplace he couldn't go he stood where he last saw her and waited. If she went into a store and left us together in the car, he stood with his paws on the dashboard, waiting and crying and looking at me like maybe I was to blame. Question: Who does the narrator think Steve is closer to? Options: - not enough information - Neither - Miss Tennessee - Himself === The correct answer is
(Answer)
Miss Tennessee

Ques:Oh, yes, I accidentally insulted a bully. It was awesome. This was about a month ago. It was the last day I worked. Memorial Day at the city rec center is SLOW, especially when it's beautiful outside, but for some reason, we had two front desk attendants: me, and "bully #1". Bully #1 clearly had a major distaste for me. She hated my tattoos, the way I would get into a heated debate one day with a police officer patron, then have a fantastic conversation with him days later about legalizing marijuana. She hated that I was liked, but still could give fuck-all about what others thought of me. Bully #2 was our financial director, who got stuck as the manager on duty that day. I honestly never had a clue she didn't like me. She was intense and sarcastic with everyone. I liked her style. On this day, I really got the feeling they were trash talking me pretty hard, the way they kept disappearing, talking over me, laughing like mean girls. I blew it off, because I was down an internet rabbit hole, trying to wrap my brain around some concepts. I was looking at a word, and while I like to think I know exact definitions, sometimes I ask people their take on it. Many psychological terms have some subjective meaning. I spun around in my chair, locked eyes with #2, and asked her: "What do you know about Machiavellianism?" I swear to God, all I wanted was her take on it (she's a smart cookie), and all hell broke loose. I now realize that she thought I was passive-aggressively accusing her of said word. They got really nasty (behind my back, of course). They retreated to the back for awhile, and left me by myself. Cue loud, mean girl laughter. When #1 resumed her post next to me at the front desk, I calmly told her, "I'm cashing out, and leaving. I'm uncomfortable." And I did. It was noon. We were closing at 1. I figured those bitches could handle it on their own. Question: Why did the author ask Bully #2 about Machiavellianism? Options: - To ask her stance on what it meant - To deliberately insult her - not enough information - To make her laugh === The correct answer is

Ans:
To ask her stance on what it meant