In this confessional age, TV, radio and print rely for much of their content on the sad stories of those 'victims' of life. The story goes something like this: There is the future 'victim' getting on with their quotidian activities and whoosh, they are whisked into a life of gambling, drugs, sex or junk food addiction. After years of struggle, they finally find redemption and become good people again. As in any good tale of redemption, there has to be a 'reason' for why our 'victim' fell off the rails. Take your pick: they were molested, their parents ran away from home, they were denied desserts except on Sundays. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my stony face. How can you not be moved by tales such as these. What is the precipitating cause of the misery in my life? Well, my mother was French and my father was English. And to make things worse, I was brought up Catholic! Yes folks, in today's shorthand of grievance, I'm a half-breed straddling Canada's great language divide and a religious bigot. My hometown was a mixture of French and English-speaking people and the results of their miscenagation. You could never tell by someone's last name who spoke your language (For instance, my good friend P. Arsenault spoke the Queen's English and my cousin Sean Doyle wouldn't have recognized an Oxford Dictionary if you shoved up his nose). As children, we were segregated by language; all the French-speaking kids went to one side of the school where they spoke French all the time. I was fortunate enough to be sent to the English side of the school and got to speak my native tongue. My parents decided my brother and sister wouldn't be quite so lucky. In an effort to bridge the great language divide, they both spent six years learning everything in French and mingling with the French people (My parents did this because it was the firm belief of all forward-thinking families that whatever road you took would be much smoother if you could speak both of Canada's official languages. As it turns out for my siblings and... Question: what is probably true about P. Arsenault Options: - not enough information - he spoke french - he spoke german - he spoke english === The correct answer is
he spoke english

"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn. The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board. "Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right. "So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye. "Sure," said Lenny with a naive smile. "Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad." "Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny. "Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?" "Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy." "And the soda fountains?" "Ready to go." "And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys." Question: What school are the high school workers from? Options: - not enough information - North River Side - Nework Heights - The Triangulators === The correct answer is
not enough information

(Question)
Dara and Jody sat on the sun-scorched concrete with their backs against the bus shelter. They were sharing an apple, one of those tart green ones, and as Dara took her turn gnashing into it, Jody gagged and vomited up some peel. 'Shit, are you okay?' Dara asked, rubbing Jody's back. 'Um, yeah,' Jody croaked, and started to laugh. 'Just dying of apple peel.' Dara began to laugh too. Looking at the little pile of fruit skin and foam brought on more laughter, and they were both suddenly breathless but unable to cease the spasms of laughter hiccupping up from their stomachs. They had to lean on each other to save falling over, and even the tut-tut tongue-clicking of the old Italian lady having to divert around them on the footpath could barely stop the infinite but elusive humour. The bus droning into the stop enabled them some composure, but once on board just looking at each other was enough to start it up again. This was the coolest day Dara had had in forever. Jody and her had decided to wag school just that morning before rollcall, and despite her anxiety -- this was actually the first time Dara had ever wagged -- she was so, so glad she did. They were both in Year 11, and had only become friends three months earlier. They were from totally different scenes at school, but one maths lesson had changed all that. Jody had borrowed someone's correction fluid -- in fact it was Mr Dickinson, the teacher's correction fluid -- but it was borrowed from someone who'd borrowed it from him. At the end of the lesson Jody was packing her stuff up and didn't know what to do with the bottle of white-out, so she tossed it out the window of the classroom. Dara had seen her do it, and thought it was just so cool. Jody had done it not in the hope of getting attention, because no one was paying attention, they were all packing up their own crap as fast as possible; she'd just done it. Question: Dara and Jody probably laughed for: Options: - several hours - several seconds - not enough information - several minutes === The correct answer is
(Answer)
several minutes