input: OPTIONS:
- Three days.
- Two days.
- not enough information
- Several hours. Now, answer this question: Personally I enjoy doing things outside. You know, the good ol' nature. One time, me and my buddy Alex and some friends decided we were going to go camping. (I know, basic camping story. Well not exactly.) We planned on going for the weekend. Got to the spot and put up our tents like normal campers. But knowing myself and my friends we wanted to drink a couple beers and do some fishing. We did just that. Later that night we had started out camp fire and cooked up some links before bed time. My drunk self wanted to keep the fire going all night to prevent wild animals from coming t our sight. Well at least I thought that'd help. So I needed a bunch of wood to do so. Everyone was asleep by this point but me. So I took myself out into the woods a little deeper to grab a full broken down tree. I thought to myself, "Well if I want to utilize all of this wood I'm going to need to break it into smaller prices right?" Wrong. Well at least it was wrongful of how I planned on doing it. I attempted to break the tree in half by throwing it against another tree, as if I were as strong as the hulk or something. Once I chunked the tree at this tree I messed the entire vacation up. The tree came down on my knee and crushed it. I was in so much pain. I realized that I messed it up pretty bad so I laid there for a second trying to get back to my feet. The next day I couldn't apply any pressure and couldn't walk at all. I was dirty and smelly and needed some serious help on my leg but I was too far from any civilization. Worst nature experience ever! According to the above context, answer the following question. For how long did the narrator and his friends drink beer and fish?
A:
output: Several hours.

input: OPTIONS:
- Kevin Stacy
- Steve Winwood
- Stan
- not enough information Now, answer this question: He had a 12" Sony black-and-white, tuned to MTV, sitting on a chair at the end of the bed. He could barely hear it over the fan in the window. He sat in the middle of the bed because of the sag, drumming along absently to Steve Winwood's "Higher Love." The sticks were Regal Tip 5Bs. They were thinner than 2Bs--marching band sticks--but almost as long. Over the years Stan had moved farther out over the ends. Now the butts of the sticks fit into the heels of his palms, about an inch up from the wrist. He flipped the right stick away when the phone rang. "Stan, dude! You want to work tomorrow?" "Yeah, probably. What have you got, Darryl? You don't sound right." "Does the name Keven Stacey mean anything to you?" "Wait a minute." Stan switched the phone to his other ear. "Did you say Keven Stacey? As in Foolsgold, Kevin Stacey? She's going to record at CSR?" "You heard me." Stan could see Darryl sitting in the control room, feet up on the console, wearing double-knit slacks and a T-shirt, sweat coming up on his balding forehead. "This is some kind of bullshit, right? She's coming in for a jingle or a PSA." "No bullshit, Stanley. She's cutting a track for a solo album she's going to pitch to Warner's. Not a demo, but a real, honest-to-Christ track. Probably a single. Now if you're not interested, there's plenty of other drummers in LA..." "I'm interested. I just don't understand why she wants to fuck with a rinky-dink studio like yours. No offense." "Don't harsh me, bud. She's hot. She's got a song and she wants to put it in the can. Everybody else is booked. You try to get into Record One or Sunset Sound. Not for six months you won't get in. Even if you're Keven Stacey. You listening, Stan?" He heard Darryl hitting the phone on the edge of the console. "That's the Big Time, dude. Knocking on your door." According to the above context, answer the following question. Who was listening to the TV
A:
output: Stan

input: OPTIONS:
- to house his art collection
- as a weekend retreat
- not enough information
- for his wife, Marion Davies Now, answer this question: Ironically, J. Paul Getty never saw the Getty Villa. He died two years after his museum opened to the public in January 1974 in a new building modeled on an ancient Roman luxury home. It was not until after Getty's death in June 1976 that he returned from his estate in England to his "ranch" on the Pacific Coast: he is buried there at the edge of the property on a private plot overlooking the ocean, alongside his eldest and youngest sons, George and Timothy, both of whom predeceased him. Following a renovation and reinstallation of the galleries, the Getty Villa opens a new chapter in its history. Although Getty never set eyes on his creation, the story of how he built the Villa and assembled his collection pervades the galleries even today. A suite of revamped roomsGalleries 105 to 108share this history. Featuring ancient works of art Getty bought himself along with archival documents, the new displays place the objects in their cultural contexts and shed light on Getty's personal relationship to his museum and final resting place. From a Ranch House to an Ancient Villa Getty bought the 64-acre ranchonce part of the Rancho Boca de Santa Monica, an early-nineteenth-century 6,656-acre Mexican land grantjust after the end of World War II, intending it as a weekend retreat where his fifth wife Theodora ("Teddy") could ride horses and he could display his growing art collection. He knew the area well, for he already owned a small house on the beach in nearby Santa Monica, just steps from the sprawling complex his friend and rival collector William Randolph Hearst had built for the actress Marion Davies. (The Davies estate is now the Annenberg Community Beach House, while Getty's beach house has been replaced by a large modern condo complex, 270 Palisades Beach Road.) According to the above context, answer the following question. Why did the collector William Randolph Hearst build a sprawling home on the beach in Santa Monica?
A:
output:
for his wife, Marion Davies