"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." Question: What did the manager say after strolling out of the second theater? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- "By the way, I need to restock the chocolates"
- "Because all of you of Earth are idiots!"
- "I don't know why... but they love it!"
- not enough information
"I don't know why... but they love it!"

Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. Question: Who might look at the main character and see that he is only wet? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The college kids
- The people in the cars
- The people in Scotland

Answer: The people in the cars

Hello I have been chased by a couple of angry dogs. I was visiting one of my clients, when, suddenly, out of the bushes, two snarling dogs attacked me. They weren't necessarily mad, as in crazy, but they were very angry. They were large dogs, and they attacked my legs, knocking me down. I knew it was very dangerous to be down on the ground, as I was most vulnerable. I covered my genitalia, my neck and my face, as I struggled to regain my feet. Fortunately, during my fall, I saw a large tree branch on the ground near me. I grabbed it, and starting beating the dogs with it. I managed to land a few good hits. As I was hitting the dogs, their owner (my client) came outside, stood on her porch and laughed at me. When she saw me hitting her dogs with a stick, she called the dogs off of me. I asked her why her dogs attacked me, and why she laughed at me. She said that she had just given her dogs a big steak bone and they were upset when I came near and attacked me. I asked her why she would set me up in this way when she knew I was on the way over. She admitted that she wanted to see what happened, and she said that when she saw what happened she thought that it was funny. I did not keep the appointment with her. My trousers were torn, and my ankles, legs, and hands were bleeding. I told her that I would not be back, and left. Later that night, her husband called to apologize on her behalf. I told him that I appreciated the call, but he wasn't the one who needed to apologize. Peace Question: What did the writer do when the dogs attacked? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The writer hit them with a tree branch.
- The writer screamed for help.
- The writer kicked at the dogs.
The writer hit them with a tree branch.