Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: I still remember that day when my mother realized that finally I had matured and was no longer a child. It was the month of December and my parents were not at home. It was very cold and I was thinking of doing something that can raise my body temperature . Well, now I think I should have chosen doing exercise over porn . The mood was set, wi-fi speed was good and Google search was working. It took me half an hour to select a porn video. After selecting the video I downloaded it . WTF where are my earphones. Took 15 minutes to locate my earphones. The movie began and just after 5 seconds the door bell rang and this was where I got screwed when I forgot to minimize the movie. My parents were back home and I was back to my studies and just forgot about the movie. Now I have a habit that while I am studying I keep the phone in the next room. My mother was in the same room where the phone was. Now comes the worst part when my phone received a whatsapp message and my mother saw that message was dropped. Without giving any damm to my privacy she opened the phone and it was my bad luck that there was no screen lock. The movie automatically started and after 5 seconds she took the phone to my dad she said "This is what he is doing when he's alone" My parents called me what is this ?? I said it's a video message from the company and it starts automatically. I have nothing to do with that stuff and suddenly my dad said yes he is right, it's a video from the company and asked me to delete the video. My dad saved me because he already knew that I watched that kind of stuff. From that day on, I never download the movies but I watch them online, I just hate the buffering part . Question: What did the author watch Answer:

OPTIONS:
- porn
- a horror movie
- not enough information
- a comedy

A: porn

Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: "That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be." He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo. "You know the tune, of course," he said. "'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off. "He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version." "So why can't it be Miller?" I asked. "He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk." My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war. But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier. The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf. Question: Where is the father after the end of this story? Answer:

OPTIONS:
- In a hospital or nursing home
- In a record studio
- In a casino
- not enough information

A: In a hospital or nursing home

Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: The sudden burst of spring produce in the market after a long, monotonous winter of cavolo nero and bright oranges is one of the things that constantly reminds me why I love living and eating in Italy. A wander through the market like any other becomes, in spring time, a new experience. I feel like a fresh arrival, like it's my first time walking through my local market. There are long, twisty fava bean pods, waiting to be podded and munched on with bitey pecorino cheese to tame the bitterness of the raw beans. Thin, long-stemmed asparagus. A lovely array of greens, including radishes with leaves so happy that they become the main ingredient, fluffy-fronded fresh herbs and fresh garlic. Artichokes of many different kinds, but especially the pointed purple ones that are either local, from Tuscany's Maremma, or sometimes from Puglia or Sicily. Rarely the rounded globe artichokes you find spilling out of crates in Rome, or the tiny, delicate Venetian ones, the so-called castraure (though they often aren't the real deal, how you can tell is by the price) that you can find in the shadow of the Rialto. And then there are thick bunches of agretti (salsola soda), looking more like mermaid's hair than a monk's beard, their English namesake. A few years ago, this wasn't such a common sight at the market in Florence. It still isn't, in that you won't get them by the crateful like you do fava beans and artichokes, though they're not particularly difficult to find now. They're just one of those special things that don't last long. Blink and you'll miss them, or come late to the market and they could easily be sold out. It's worth getting up and out of the house a little earlier for these (a note to myself, of course). If you've never tasted agretti before, it's worth seeking out if you're in the right place at the right time and find a bunch or see it on a menu. Frances Mayes likens it to spinach, but notes that it is so much more, "While agretti has the mineral sharpness of spinach, it tastes livelier, full of the energy... Question: What is probably true about the narrator? Answer:

OPTIONS:
- They love cooking
- They love walking
- They love spring
- not enough information

A:
They love cooking