"Congratulations, jackass, you just got us sued." My editor, Sharon, was standing in front of my desk. She was apparently not happy. I shrugged, slouching further down in my chair, trying to hide from her gigantic crazy eyes behind my computer. It was a white laptop with a sticker that said "This Machine Kills Yuppies" slapped over the corporate logo on back. She reached out with one of her freakish man-hands and slammed the screen shut. "Let me try this again. You just got us sued six times over." Sharon Sinclair was a six-foot-tall beast of a woman with a huge mane of wiry black and gray hair pulled back in a pony tail. I had every confidence that she could tear me in two and use my bloody carcass in some kinky hedonistic lesbian cult ritual or something. So I usually tried to choose my words with the appropriate care around her. "Jesus-fucking-Christ, I haven't even had my morning coffee yet, and my head's still reeling from the Louisville Slugger that pummeled it last night. So I really don't feel like dealing with whatever annoying hormonal episode you have going on here." She glared at me silently, watching me squirm a little before asking, "Are you done?" "Probably." "Good," she said with a suppressed grin as she took a seat next to me. "Because I just let you publicly accuse the mayor and the valley's most powerful corporations of conspiring to defraud the taxpayers. So what's your plan for keeping my ass off the firing line?" I tilted back in my chair and met Sharon's gaze. "Look, we knew we'd get a strong reaction. Let them sue. We have e-mails to back us up." "These legal briefings say your e-mails were forged," she responded, waving a thick stack of papers in my face. "Of course they're gonna say that. That's why I made sure to get corroboration. Abrasax confirmed that the e-mails between Dylan Maxwell and City Hall are legit. But you know all this, so I don't know why we're wasting time going over it again." Question: What is probably true about the narrator? Options: - not enough information - he is a revolutionist - he is a yuppy - he likes lesbians === The correct answer is
he is a revolutionist

For a month, anything I consumed would result in me rushing to the wash room and throwing up. When this started, I thought it's something to do with what I had previously eaten which was stale and was having a reaction to bad food. When the problem persisted for a week where I was barely able to keep my food from coming out, I went to visit my doctor. He asked me questions and gave me some vitamins and pills before and after food to stop the vomiting. They didn't work. Even though I was not sexually active, I got my self a pregnancy test which showed negitive. I tried to eat healthy, but to no avail. 15 mins was the max my food was inside my stomach. I was becoming weak from all the throwing up and rapidly loosing weight. I went to my doctor again and he said I was stressed. Wrote me some more pills. Nothing worked. My Mom got paranoid and took me to another doctor for a second opinion. The doctor asked me to write down everything I ate with the number of times I threw up for the next 2 days and return to his clinic. Only then, were they able to diagnose that I was lactose intolerant!! Milk, milk products, cheese, butter, cream, nothing seems to agree with my stomach anymore. Surprisingly this is what I used to eat - cereals with milk, eggs with butter, pizza, pasta, lasagne, cheese with bread, tall long glasses of iced coffee, frappes and bam, my body would reject them within 15 minutes. It was terrible switching from coffee with milk to black coffee, until I started developing a taste for it. Pizza's are something I still can't eat. I need to remove the cheese from the slice and unfortunately my body is able to only take one slice of Pizza. Pasta, white sauce is a strict no no unless I want to feel bloated and throw up. So yep. My doctor was unable to diagnose me. Thankfully I did take a second opinion. Question: The narrator knew about their lactose intolerance Options: - after seeing a second doctor - after seeing the first doctor - before seeing the first doctor - not enough information === The correct answer is
after seeing a second doctor

*Question*
A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words! Question: How often does Patch need to eat to avoid feeling hungry: Options: - not enough information - every hour on the hour - six times a day - twice a day === The correct answer is
**Answer**
not enough information