I have a chronic illness, and so I received quite a few sterling gems in the months between onset and accurate diagnosis. I had one GP let's call him Dr Douche. I promise, it's the kindest way I could describe him. "The jacket means I know things." He came up with wilder and wilder theories as to why I was sick, and kept getting sicker. It should be said beforehand that few of these theories were embodied. He was sure it was something in my ladybrains that was preventing proper function of the rest of me. Dr Douche said so much weird, wild, and just-plain-unbelievable crap over the course of my diagnosis that someday I may create a novel that incorporates it all. But this here has to be the blue ribbon winner. I was describing a symptom to him: every time I got up in the morning, when I first stood, my heart would pound, my heart rate would accelerate, and I'd feel dizzy. After a few probing questions (only in the morning? no, but it's worst in the morning) "Maybe," he said sensitively, "you're afraid." "Of standing?" I asked, just to be sure. "You think I'm afraid of standing up." Maybe he meant there was some kind of existential fear, like, we're all afraid, it's a big old universe out there, and he wanted some comfort and reassurance. Nope. The man genuinely thought I had such a profound fear of verticality, that I was having a near-panic in response to being upright. POTS, folks. It was POTS. Literally THE most common sign/symptom/syndrome of autonomic dysfunction. The most common one. He could've confirmed right there in the office with a poor man's tilt table test, if he knew to Mayo Clinic had to confirm with expensive instruments because he'd never heard of a disease that affects 1/100 teenagers and between 13 million people in the United States! Would've done better with this Doctor. Question: When did the man find his true diagnosis? Options: A. before talking to Dr. Douche B. after going to Mayo Clinic C. not enough information D. after talking to Dr. Douche === The correct answer is
B

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: How does the bully feel when confronted by the teacher? Options: A. The bully felt misunderstood B. The bully felt angry C. The bully felt scared D. not enough information === The correct answer is
A

(Question)
With regular money now coming in from the Guardian column, my regular contributions to other publications and the modest subscription revenue from The Friday Thing, I had been living something of the high life since arriving in London. I had started hanging out with the great and the good of the dot com world: attending launch parties for new sites, going to parties to celebrate them staying in business for a whole year, eating their lunches, drinking their booze and learning their secrets while they tried to convince me to write about them in my column. Many of these online entrepreneurs had become my friends and I'd managed to find myself a new girlfriend - Maggie, a Welsh journalist who was a restaurant reviewer for a food and drink website. This was a brilliant blag: it meant we could eat at some of London's best restaurants and never pay a penny. Life was wonderful: The Friday Thing and the Guardian column meant that my plan to use the Internet to become hugely famous and successful was firmly on track, I'd made lots of new friends, and, on top of all that, I was getting laid and eating gourmet food for free. Even Sam Lewis was jealous, and he was rich. Meanwhile, the people I was writing about were not having such an easy time of it. 2003 was a really strange time to be covering the 'new media' industry - mainly because no one was really sure for how long there would be an industry left to cover. The dot com boom of 1999 seemed like a millennium ago: a period in history as crazy as the tulip craze or the South Sea Bubble look to us now. The first signs of trouble for the industry had come in 2000. As the century turned, so had the market and - to use the parlance of analysts - the boom had turned out to be a bubble. And then the bubble had burst. Question: How long dot the dot com boom last? Options: A. 20 years B. Few months C. 5 years. D. not enough information === The correct answer is
(Answer)
C