Problem: OPTIONS:
- Pauls work
- Chloe
- Paul
- not enough information
Q: Paul knew that the plan was insane and probably illegal. Certainly the stuff he'd been helping Chloe and her gang of followers do for the last few hours was technically illegal. He'd asked them why they were helping him, what did they hope to gain? They'd told him that this is what they did for fun. Chloe assured him that they "lived for this kinda shit." Ok, fine. He could sort of see that. Once he was there, helping them come up with the plan and then actually carrying it out, it sure as hell was exciting - probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done. Now that he was home and alone with his misgivings and paranoia, it all seemed like a really stupid idea. If it weren't for Chloe and her mesmerizing enthusiasm, there's no doubt that he wouldn't be doing this at all. But it was too late now. Or was it? It was five in the morning when Paul got back to his apartment. He'd told Chloe that he wanted to get a few hours sleep before the big meeting, but he now realized that there was no way he was going to be able to relax. When he'd stepped out the door twenty-two hours earlier he'd still had his job and was looking forward to a showing the rest of the art team his new designs for some of the higher-level monsters he wanted to add to the game. Screw that, he thought, they're my monsters now. I'll use them somewhere else. It could never work. How could it? Right then and there Paul decided that he was going to call the whole thing off. It wasn't too late. They hadn't done anything yet that wasn't reversible. No one had been hurt. No money had changed hands. No one had been lied to. If he called it off right now he could just move on and try and put the whole, sorry state of affairs behind him. Question: Who did the monsters belong to? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: Paul
Problem: OPTIONS:
- Miss Tennessee would never return.
- The author scolded and smacked Steve.
- not enough information
- Miss Tennessee would come back from the store.
Q: I loved the little guy from the day she brought him home. She carried him wrapped in a sweatshirt from the shelter at the corner where she'd been saying for months she was going to go. She set him down on the hardwood floor and he clipped around like a fawn - - clip, clip -- looking through doorways and carefully eyeing us both. He was tiny but he was strong. He was muscular and sleek, like a miniature greyhound, and we both watched intently as he clipped around, soldiering things out and whining under his breath. Miss Tennessee looked at me and smiled and said: "Well honey? What do you think?" And I told her: "I love the little guy." He was never really my dog. He was more like my step-dog, but together we named him Steve. We thought it was funny, giving a dog a man's name like that. But it fit, like Miss Tennessee, which I started just to tease her about being full-grown and long- legged and pretty, but in a tomboyish way that made it both absolutely ridiculous and absolutely plausible that she had ever been Miss Anything. It always made her swallow a grin. Steve's name, on the other hand, made it sound like he wasn't a dog at all, but this little man. Miss Tennessee often called him that: the little man. Steve liked me okay but he loved Miss Tennessee. With me it was man things. After he got snipped or when he was stung by bees, down there, in grass that came up to his chin, he would come sit by me, hoping I'd understand. With her, it was everything else. When she took a bath, he stood with his paws on the side of the tub, and when she went someplace he couldn't go he stood where he last saw her and waited. If she went into a store and left us together in the car, he stood with his paws on the dashboard, waiting and crying and looking at me like maybe I was to blame. Question: What would probably happen after Steve stood with his paws on the dashboard of the car? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: Miss Tennessee would come back from the store.
Problem: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- 20 minutes
- 48 hours
- A couple of hours
Q: The next morning I called up my friend, Nick Unger, who worked for the police department. He agreed to meet me at the Casbah, a glorious little dive bar a few blocks from my apartment. It opened first thing in the morning, realizing the best drunks start early. By the time he showed up I was already deep into my third drink and trying charm the bartender, Maggie, into comping my fourth. I was failing miserably as usual, but at least it was fun trying. As soon as Nick walked through the front door, I slammed my palm down on the bar top. "Tricky Nicky! Have a drink, brother!" He slid onto the bar stool beside me and smiled warmly at the bartender. "Has this low life been giving you grief, Maggie?" She grinned at him. "Only since I opened the front door." Nick winked at her and ordered a half-pint of stout. "Pansy," I scoffed and slammed the rest of my whiskey. He shook his head. "God I miss you, you mad bastard. I can't imagine why Andrea won't let you come around the house anymore." I shrugged. "I know, it's like as soon as she started squirting out brood, she suddenly gets all uptight about people starting fires in the middle of your living room." "Imagine," he said as he raised his glass of beer. I clinked my empty glass to his. "So guess who I ran into last night at Jenny's wedding?" He shrugged. "Brian Lopez." He chuckled. "No shit. How is old Double-Dip?' "Fat and sad," I replied while waving Maggie over for a refill. "And married to a smoking hottie. Well, married or engaged or whatever." Nick nodded. "I met her. They were at a Police Union dinner around the holidays. She's a butterface." I arched my eyebrow. "She had a face?" Maggie rolled her eyes while she filled my glass. Nick caught her glance. "I know, he's got no class, but what are you gonna do?" "Anyways," I continued, "she's way too hot for him, and that's not gonna end well. You just know that one of these days he's gonna come home and find her with the pool boy or some shit." Question: Jenny's wedding (including the dinner) likely lasted: === The answer to the above question is
Answer:
A couple of hours