Read the following context and answer the question. Context: One student started packing up at the beginning of a lab exercise. I asked him where he was going. He said "I'm going to fail this class anyway, so I have other things to do." It was true that he wasn't doing well, and we had addressed this previously, but his attitude was completely defeatist. He had given up. So, there, in the middle of class, before he could get away, I said "Well, yeah. You will certainly fail if you don't even try. I thought you were graduating at the end of this semester." "I'm supposed to, but I won't, because I'm going to fail physics. All I need is a D." (He was right; his major didn't require knowing any physics but they put it in the curriculum as a kind of gatekeeper course. Most students took physics much earlier in their studies than he did.) "If you have already decided to fail, I can't stop you; you're an adult. But you can make an appointment with me anytime. You already know that. You can email me. It's my job to help you understand, but you have to come to me. You are an adult. It would be very inappropriate of me to follow you around, inviting you to office hours. And you must do the homework and the labs." He stayed for the lab. I notified his counselor about what was going on, and she called him in and said the same things that I said. Next class he moved from the seat at the edge of my peripheral vision, to the middle, started working his ass off, and he passed. For a while I thought he was closing in on a C, but he got his D and graduated. And I didn't give him anymore of a grading break than I give any of my students. Question: Who thought he was going to fail? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- the principal
- not enough information
- the student
- the teacher
the student

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: Justin Nelson, Jr., pounded the last of the stakes of his new cattle pen into the dry dirt. Like sentinels, they sprouted in a line from the barn, swerved north of the stream, veered at a right angle for the stump, and followed Justin to where he stood. The cross-beams remained, after which he'd finally be done. He took a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his forehead. The task had been lengthened considerably, although Justin refused to admit it, by incessant thinking, an activity which often stopped him with his hammer in mid-air. But now, he would soon be able to think all he wanted from the comfort of his porch as the cattle wandered from shade to shade. After he bought some cattle, he reminded himself. Under the entirely blue vault of sky, Justin felt something pass between himself and the morning sun. His leathered face turned up to see nothing but ubiquitous light, curving toward him in all directions. He arched his aging back, feeling the popping and hating it more than usual, before wiping his neck and replacing the handkerchief. He had that feeling that he'd better drink something and sit down or he'd end up in that damn hospital again. Twice last year, whether he needed it or not, he went in for a check-up, and twice a year, some intern treated him like the village idiot. Truth be told, everyone who knew about him had treated him that way for nearly eleven years, except his niece. With a sigh escaping from the bellows of his withering chest, Justin shuffled back to the porch he had added onto his small two-room home. In the distance, a plume of dust was billowing off the road. Mail truck. Must be time for breakfast. About time I ate something. Question: Why did Justin go to the doctor? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- He is getting old.
- His back hurt.
- not enough information
- He was dehydrated.

Answer: His back hurt.

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: 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 long did it take Clise to get obese? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- Its adult lifetime.
- Since he was found.
- Many years.
- not enough information
Its adult lifetime.