"Because all of you of Earth are idiots!" shouted Tom, wearily wiping the glass counter, removing coconut oil from the reflections of overpriced candy bars. Inside the theater the movie echoed him: "Because all of you of Earth are idiots!" Tom sighed, not for the first time that evening. The Manager, who paid in cash every Sunday, had decided to take advantage of the bizarre tastes of his Generation X clients and offer an Ed Wood film festival. Bride of the Monster, Plan 9 From Outer Space, and Night of the Ghouls ran on the second, smaller screen on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, two bucks a head. The Manager was making a killing. Tom, who needed the job in order to move out of his parents' trailer home, found little about the Ed Wood canon amusing, although it was light-years beyond anything by Coleman Francis. Even so, Tom had been forced to hear the dialog of each film, on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday... He only had to watch them once, having filled in for the Manager's weasel-featured nephew/projectionist Neoldner, who had called in sick to buy grass in Beloit. But he would have been able to forget the experience had it not been for the penetrating soundtrack which bled into the lobby. The ordeal, for tonight, was almost over - the concession stand closed after Plan 9. He hoped he had sold enough to keep his job - there was the worry that the Manager would increase his profit margin by manning the concession stand himself. But the Manager strolled out of the second theater with a broad grin, revealing his cutting overbite. "I don't know why," the Manager exclaimed, "but they love it!" "Most of them are from the 'Ed 9 Film Society,'" Tom replied. "By the way, I need to restock the chocolates." After working that shift, Tom would likely Pick the correct answer from the following options: - reveal the whereabouts of Neoldner - keep his job - quit his job - not enough information
keep his job

(Question)
The hardest thing was having to give up my three beautiful puppies due to my situation, the environment, and the people in that environment. I've mentioned this in another question. (Lilo, my best friend) (Cleveland, the biggest of the litter, he was chill like me) (Spike, the fluffiest, he was as fluffy as a cat, but clumsy to) What I did for these puppies was out of this world love. I never loved anything more in this world than these three right here. I raised them from birth to almost 11 weeks. While my mom wanted money, selling the others to anyone.(there was 11 in the litter) I cared for their safety and happiness and quality of life. They were my everything when I had nothing. I gave them away to a animal charity organization for free. My mom bitched at me for not getting money for them. At this time I was in severe depression, severe poverty, no chance of a job due to location, and wearing dirty clothes for months in her basement. I love animals to death, I love animals more than I love humans(but I'm no PETA activist). I loved these puppies, what I did was out of complete love and care for them and was seriously the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life. It gets me very emotional thinking about this, I wish I was in a better position to give them a happy life. The black puppy, Lilo was my upmost favorite. She had the whine of a angel. She used it to always get my attention to give her more love. She always wanted to sleep with me every night and be with me every second of the day. Not a day passes that I hope they are getting love from a family in a great environment. I really want to get to see Lilo again. But of course the dog charity people changed their names. But she will also be Lilo to me♥️ How does he feel giving up the puppies? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - Hopeful - Mad - Sad
(Answer)
Sad

Question: Once, while grating potatoes to make potato pancakes, I had a Proustian moment. I can't lay claim to much in the way of literary knowledge, but I do know that Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' was prompted by his biting into a pastry and feeling a sense of overwhelming pleasure with no recognizable cause. In my case, I was instantly transported back to the grandmother's kitchen as she and my mother grated potatoes in order to make 'poutine rapee', also known as 'poutines'. People will immediately flash to the Quebecker ethnic food known by the same name. However, in spite of all the Franco-culinary posturing, this is really only French Fries with gravy and, oh yeah, can I have some cheese curds on that? One etymological source indicates that 'poutine' really means 'mess'. If you come from my part of the country, the Quebecker poutine is just another entry in the long list of dishes that will cause you to keel over from a myocardial infarction while shoveling a foot of snow out of the driveway shortly after you've retired; sometimes before. Nope, poutines as I know them are a different creature entirely. They seem to be more of an Acadian thing and none of my friends had even heard of them, much less eaten a single one. Because of the work involved, my mother only made poutines for special times: Christmas, say or Easter. My mother would borrow this grater that was about two feet long and she and my grandmother would set to work. Generally, they started off with an enormous paper sack of potatoes, about 25 pounds or so (We used to buy potatoes by the cartload and store them in a wooden bin in the basement. Because we were cheap labour, the kids would be sent down to retrieve a few for the family meal. It was creepy to descend into the dank cellar, feel our way through the dim obstacle course formed by my grandfather's thousands of tools and bits of wood and locate the bin. After a time in storage, the eyes on potatoes began to sprout pale tendrils and it didn't take much imagination to visualize all kinds... Who borrowed the grater? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - mother - not enough information - myself - grandmother
Answer:
mother