text:
It’s been ages since I wrote about Eve Online from the perspective of a player, instead of issuing proclamations full of bombast and demagoguery as the leader of a vast space tribe. From 2009 to 2012, my ‘Sins of a Solar Spymaster’ columns would follow a reassuring format: pose a question, lay out history or arguments around that question, and end with a definitive answer.

Paradoxically, my position as the leader of Goonswarm Federation has steadily eroded any sense of certainty and understanding about the game we play, compared to when I first began. Why do we play? Is this even actually a game? If not, are we really playing, or living out existences in dual realms? Is Eve, to quote the much-mocked CCP ad campaign from 2011, ‘real’? If so, is that a good thing, and what does it say about those of us playing it? Long ago, when I knew less, I had all sorts of easy, quick, and inaccurate answers to these questions which made for great column fodder. I think the reason I stopped writing regularly about Eve is simple: as I learned more about Eve, I ran out of answers, especially to these most fundamental questions.

EVERYTHING IS STRANGE IN THIS WORLD

Let’s face facts: Eve Online and its playerbase are anomalies in the world of video games – which is a nice way of saying that we’re playing a tremendously weird game in a tremendously weird way. The average age and demographic makeup of the players (37+ years old, overwhelmingly male, overwhelmingly well-educated) doesn’t resemble any other online game. The sandbox gameplay of Eve doesn’t even vaguely track that of other games; most sandbox games like Second Life are feel-good wish-fulfillment simulators, while Eve is more like nightmare fuel. There is no game with the shardless scale of Eve, no game with half a million rats trapped in one cage without another server to flee to in order to escape their conflicts. There is a whole cadre of academics who are steadily working their way up the tenure track writing papers about what goes on in New Eden.

I watched a clip of a twitch streamer which was making the rounds. Someone asked him what he thought about Eve, and he summed up in a few sentences what has been nagging me for more than a decade: _Eve isn’t a game, it’s a lifestyle_ – or perhaps a cult.

[]

But there’s more going on here than a mere cult. Consider that Eve players agree that ‘winning’ Eve means getting over it and quitting the game forever. Eve players will refer to their real-world names as their ‘slave names’. Eve players seem to meet up in the real world far more than players of other games, and are compelled to talk about their in-game experiences with each other with an unmatched drive and enthusiasm. We are forced to interact with one another in the game, and choose to seek out even our bitter foes to have beers with them.

What the hell is going on here? If your real name is your slave name, why do you win Eve when you quit it forever? Why are we driven to hang out with each other in the real world over Eve, where at-a-distance disposable relationships suffice in other games? And why is it so hard to quit for good, even when we want to?

It is about the roles we choose to play, and what it says about us when we choose them.

DONNING THE MASK

When new players first encounter Eve, many of them simply turn away, clicking out of the tutorial and never returning. Some, however, stay. They fight through the tutorial and the worst-in-class PvE experience, and if they play the game for longer than six months, statistically speaking those players will continue to play Eve forever – a decade or more. What is it about Eve that makes some players stick, where others are instantly repelled?

Those who stay have chosen a mask to wear – a role for their time in New Eden. This mask sets their path, a set of skills to develop and values to live by which goes beyond their opportunities in the real world. Some players begin wearing a mask immediately, diving in and becoming a pirate from their first hour in the game; others play the game for a while before finding a mask that fits and then committing to the game.

[]

There are a number of identities we can assume when playing Eve that are not safe in the real world; this is one of the game’s primary draws. Come to New Eden and be a spy, a warrior, a diplomat, a pirate, a warlord! In Eve you can safely wear a mask and engage in activities that would get you thrown in jail or killed in reality; a scammer like Scooter McCabe would be a criminal instead of a folk hero, and being a warlord – like a nullsec alliance leader – only works in failed states like Somalia or in a criminal enterprise.

The key thing is this: until we are done wearing these masks, as long as we desire the experience from this other identity, we are engaged with one another in a sci-fi themed masquerade ball along with hundreds of thousands of others wearing their own masks – with all the ups and downs inherent in such events.

HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE

However, the freedom to wear a mask comes with a price; you can choose your mask, change your mask, and swap between masks, but you cannot escape other players. The game which allows the most freedom of identity and experience traps us with one another; our masks compete. If I am to get my kicks as a pirate, you as a miner must suffer. If I am to get my kicks as an empire-builder, you as a plucky independent rebel must suffer. Eve promises us heaven – the ability to be who we imagine ourselves to be, to explore other identities, changing them like our clothes – but then gives us hell: the fact that in order to be who we want to be, we must compete with the identities of hundreds of thousands of other identity-seekers.

But the other players and the scale at which Eve operates are key to giving our masks value. You can play Second Life and skin an avatar as a spy or a pirate, but you don’t impact anything; it is more like playing dress-up or writing fan-fiction about yourself. In Eve you can attack, seize, conquer, and test yourself against other people whether they like it or not. When you become a pirate in Eve, you have proven to yourself that you in fact have the capabilities as a person to live up to at least part of the mask: you realize that the mask you chose is no longer entirely a mask, but a reflected aspect of your capabilities and talents as a person.

On the flipside of success, we also have the electronic safety net to fail spectacularly and not die or have our lives ruined; a failed pirate in Eve gets a lossmail and a bruised ego, while an aspiring criminal in the real world may be thrown in jail or even killed. You can test out masks and find hidden skills you never imagined: the sysadmin discovers a talent as a fleet commander, the military veteran discovers she has a knack for market analysis.

This provides the irresistible tension of Eve: by testing yourself against other players striving against you, your victories and failures have meaning and say something about your identity. And victory is addictive; if you succeed in your goals in Eve, you want to keep doing it. Other players will validate your success; you can become known among legions, cementing your sense of real accomplishment through the admiration or enmity of the other. More wars, more heists, more ISK – more conflict with other players who themselves are striving to fulfill their chosen identity. Our successes and our failures can resonate even after we have won the game, inspiring a new generation to take up our masks and mantles; how many thousands of spies began their careers emulating Istvaan Shogaatsu, long after he achieved final victory?

Eve Online is the only world offering this semi-toxic mix of identity, risk, security, and realness – and this is why our desire to be our other, imagined selves, our desire to wear these masks, imprisons us here.

[]

TRAPPED IN CYBER-PURGATORY

What is Eve? A galaxy which doesn’t exist in a ‘game’ which resembles a lifestyle, populated with players wearing masks that fulfill deep-seated desires. A universe of social anarchy where no one can be coerced with physical force or the threat of death, where emotional violence is unleashed with impunity. A place which is not quite real, but not quite fake; a place where one can learn new skills, develop and mature as a person – to ascend. But also a place where one can descend – to see human behavior stripped from law and virtue, to find an outlaw tribe where wrong is justified as right. Eve Online is a cyber-Purgatory, a half-realm offering redemption or damnation for those exploring their identities within it. By offering us our choice of masks, Eve can enable us to know ourselves and lift ourselves and our friends up, but also to drag each other down – enabling our darker natures.

This is why Eve players win the game when they quit. We see players gaining confidence in themselves, unlocking talents that are valuable in the real world, making connections and forming real friendships; when they win the game and no longer need their masks, we wish them well and hold them up as success stories. “He won Eve, good for him.” You can always tell who is simply ‘on break’ from Eve but hasn’t actually won; they are not done wearing their mask, and have merely put it on the shelf for a time. We can tell who has won – and we know who will be back.

SAINTS AND SINNERS

There are saints and sinners in this Purgatory. We have the Space Pope, Maximilian Singularity VI, the First of His Name: a genuinely good human being who sticks around in this world to bless us and help players in dire need through the Sixth Empire. I don’t know any other game with a Pope; at an intuitive level it seems to make sense that Eve would have a Pope who would bless us, and it doesn’t get questioned much. Of course we have a Pope!

Meanwhile, there are dire examples of those who have fallen and become worse as people. There are scams that go too far, such as the infamous I Am Olivia incident, or the Bonus Room. There are little cliques of racists and bigots who have found each other here and reinforce their evil, leaving 1488 units of gas as references to white supremacy in their lossmails.

Eve exposes its players to the limits of humanity in an unfiltered way. In real life, most people do not personally encounter extremes of behavior unless they choose to work as police, nurses, social workers, or join the military. Yet in this video game, we are confronted with both the best and worst of human nature on a regular basis, and have the opportunity to learn – or become embittered – from that exposure. For some players, their masks become an avenue of liberation, showing a path of hope for a different life path, a different career, and different worldview. For others, their mask become a prison, trapping them within an addictive, unhealthy identity.

[]

In the context of cyber-Purgatory, a player threatening to cut off another players hands seems tame; what would send the World of Warcraft community into a fit of vapors barely raises an eyebrow in New Eden. We eat death threats for breakfast and the bulk of our expressions of outrage are simply concern trolls leveraged to advance our positions in the metagame; today’s torches-and-pitchforks mob is tomorrow’s detached, ironic punchline. Victory in Eve becomes the opportunity to express your chosen identity your way, often at the cost of someone else not being able to express theirs. It’s simply part of the price we pay to explore our potential selves.

NO ANSWERS, NO MASTERS

I wish I could end this piece with a tidy conclusion wrapped up in a bow, but humanity is simply too messy for that, and Eve Online is ultimately a realm populated with humans doing human things. Even as we try to label and describe the framework of what is happening in Eve, the situation mutates. Normal video games sanitize human behavior and make it safe, putting limits on what we can and cannot do to one another; Eve Online does not, and so here we are, groping for answers as to what the hell we’re doing, wearing our masks in Purgatory – and wondering why we enjoy it so damn much.

question: What makes Eve Online different?

answer: Eve Online unlike most other online games does not make you 'feel good' instead it is more like nightmare fuel. Furthermore, Eve players refer to their real-world names as their 'slave names'.

question: Why do players usually turn away when they first encounter Eve?

answer: This information can't be found.


split: test

text:
The office of UNITED STATES ATTORNEY FOR THE WISCONSIN TERRITORY came into being when the Wisconsin Territory was created from the remnants of the Michigan Territory. When Wisconsin became the 30th state in 1848, the UNITED STATES ATTORNEY FOR THE DISTRICT OF WISCONSIN was established. In 1870, the state was split into two jurisdictions, the UNITED STATES ATTORNEY FOR THE EASTERN DISTRICT OF WISCONSIN and the UNITED STATES ATTORNEY FOR THE WESTERN DISTRICT OF WISCONSIN.[1]

Wisconsin Territory

  U.S. Attorney          Years         Notes                     President(s)
  ---------------------- ------------- ------------------------- ----------------
  William W. Chapman     1836 – 1838                             Andrew Jackson
  Martin Van Buren
  Moses M. Strong        1838 – 1841
  Thomas W. Sutherland   1841 – 1845                             John Tyler
  William Pitt Lynde     1845 – 1848   _Elected to U.S. House_   James K. Polk

District of Wisconsin

  U.S. Attorney          Years         Notes                                                President(s)
  ---------------------- ------------- ---------------------------------------------------- -----------------
  Thomas W. Sutherland   1848                                                               James K. Polk
  A. Hyatt Smith         1848 – 1849
  George W. Lakin        1850 – 1853                                                        Zachary Taylor
  Millard Fillmore
  John R. Sharpstein     1853 – 1857   _Later Justice of the Supreme Court of California_   Franklin Pierce
  Don A. J. Upham        1857 – 1861                                                        James Buchanan
  John B. D. Cogswell    1861 – 1866                                                        Abraham Lincoln
  Andrew Johnson

Eastern and Western District

  U.S. Attorney, Western Dist.   Years                Notes                           President(s)           U.S. Attorney, Eastern Dist.   Years         Notes
  ------------------------------ -------------------- ------------------------------- ---------------------- ------------------------------ ------------- -------
  Charles M. Webb                1870 – 1878                                          Ulysses S. Grant       Levi Hubbell                   1870 – 1875
  Gerry Whiting Hazelton         1876 – 1885
  Rutherford B. Hayes
  H. M. Lewis                    1878 – 1886
  James A. Garfield
  Chester A. Arthur
  Grover Cleveland               Arthur K. Delaney    1885 – 1887
  Allen R. Bushnell              1886 – 1890
  William A. Walker              1887 – 1890
  Benjamin Harrison
  Samuel A. Harper               1890 – 1894                                          Elihu Colman           1890 – 1893
  Grover Cleveland               John H. M. Wigman    1893 – 1897
  Harry E. Briggs                1894 – 1898
  William McKinley               Milton E. Phillips   1897 – 1901
  David F. Jones                 1898 – 1901
  William G. Wheeler             1901 – 1909                                          Theodore Roosevelt     H. K. Butterfield              1901 – 1910
  George H. Gordon               1909 – 1913                                          William Howard Taft
  E. A. Henning                  1910 – 1911
  Guy D. Goff                    1911 – 1915          _Later U.S. Senator_
  John A. Aylward                1913 – 1916                                          Woodrow Wilson
  H. A. Sawyer                   1915 – 1923
  Arthur Mulberger               1916
  William F. Wolfe               1916 – 1917
  Albert C. Wolfe                1917 – 1921
  William H. Dougherty           1921 – 1927                                          Warren G. Harding
  Edward W. Miller               1923
  Calvin Coolidge                William O. Meilahm   1923
  Roy L. Morse                   1923 – 1927
  Stanley M. Ryan                1927 – 1944          _Grandfather of _               Levi H. Bancroft       1927 – 1932
  Herbert Hoover
  Edward J. Gehl
  Franklin D. Roosevelt          Bert Husting
  Charles H. Cashin                                                                   Timothy T. Cronin
  Harry S. Truman
  Thomas E. Fairchild                                 _Later Senior Judge of the _
  Frank Nikolay
  George E. Rapp                                                                      Dwight D. Eisenhower
  Edward G. Minor
  John F. Kennedy                James B. Brennan
  Nathan Heffernan                                    _Later Chief Justice of the _
  Lyndon B. Johnson
  Michael J. Wyngaard
  Edmond A. Nix                  1969                                                 Richard Nixon          David J. Cannon
  John O. Olson
  David B. Bukey
  Steven C. Underwood            1974
  David C. Mebane                                                                     Gerald Ford            William J. Mulligan
  Frank M. Tuerkheimer                                                                Jimmy Carter
  Joan F. Kessler                                     _First female for Wisconsin_
  John R. Byrnes                                                                      Ronald Reagan          Joseph Peter Stadtmueller
  Patrick J. Fiedler                                                                  Patricia J. Gorence
  John E. Fryatt
  George H. W. Bush
  Kevin C. Potter
  Peg Lautenschlager                                                                  Bill Clinton           Thomas Paul Schneider
  J. B. Van Hollen                                                                    George W. Bush         Steven M. Biskupic
  Erik C. Peterson
  Barack Obama                   James Santelle
  John W. Vaudreuil
  Gregory Haanstad
  Scott Blader                                                                        Donald Trump           Matthew Krueger

[1] https://www.justice.gov/sites/default/files/usao/legacy/2011/11/23/bicn_celebration.pdf

title: List of United States Attorneys for Wisconsin

question: From what was the Wisconsin Territory created?

answer: Remnants of the Michigan Territory.

question: In what year was the state split in two jurisdictions?

answer: 1870.

question: Who was President of the United States after Rutherford B. Hayes?

answer: James A. Garfield.

question: Who was POTUS before Barack Obama?

answer: George W. Bush.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The Wisconsin Territory was formed after it split from remnants of the Michigan Territory. Wisconsin became the 30th state of the United States in 1848. In 1870, it was split into  two jurisdictions-United States Attorney for the Eastern district, and United States Attorney for the Western district. Every President of the United States has had a U.S. attorney serving under them.


text:
I turned my palms so that they were face down. I was wrapped from the waist down in the white sheets of a bed. I felt like a twig. I looked at the smiling doc. My vision was surprisingly clear. Beyond the doc, the room boasted blue curtains, white walls and bright lights - as one should expect, I assume at least, from a hospital room.

The doc sported black hair, two lovely pearly earrings and a pair of eyes. I smiled back. I was definitely on something. I can’t tell what, but my mouth crinkles seemed to buzz as muscles contracted. It was a weird feeling. My mind wondered easily. Almost as easily as my eyes. I remember looking at the wall clock and following the ticking motion of the hands. At the time, they had a nice movement to them. I likened that motion to the sway of smoke or the flapping of a flame.

I was told by the lovely doc to embrace my new heart in a language comprised of factoids and the occasional medical vignette.

“It’s a technologically sound device and very new indeed”.

“135 beats per minute and far more efficient than the real thing. Breath taking, really”.

After the doc’s description about how terrific my new heart is, I had a little coughing fit. I can only put the cough down to the dustiness of the room’s air. The odd thing was that my heart rate stayed exactly the same. Now, not having experienced this before, I must say it is a feeling of peculiarity. It was at this moment that I realised my case was quite luxurious. I would never have to worry again about becoming light headed from lying down too long and nor would I have to worry about attending anymore of Minnie’s god awful Pilates classes. A minor miracle.

I remember having a little lapse form my bliss. How would Minnie respond? And the kids? Joseph had only just managed to graduate and, well, Kayla’s kids now have to deal with an even less capable Gramps. Fantastic. Thinking about all this was all fine and dandy, but I soon realised that the most pressing issue was to work out how I was going to navigate Minnie’s “I told you so” moment.

“Listen to me, you’re too old for this”.

“40 years. It’s going to kill you”.

Minnie’s concerns are always the same. I never take them to heart. I know she means well. But, my god, that woman can complain and she now had a fair point. I looked back at the doctor still mumbling away. I concluded apologising was the best bet. I needed to play the victim card to my advantage. Minnie isn’t that heartless. She’s come around.

I tuned back to the doc. I was told that there are two battery packs built into my chest. All externally rechargeable, of course. When one pack dies out, the second pack kicks in and it becomes paramount that the previous one is recharged. If I fail this procedure, I die; with both battery packs empty there is simply nothing to power the circulation of my blood, to transport my oxygen and to keep me alive.

The doctor smiled again. I must say, by now, I remember beginning to feel a little restless. I was starting to come around. My eyes darted down towards the doctor’s blouse, to the chest pocket of her white coat and then to the little white pen that popped out.

It was then that I realised I now had no heart and all I really wanted was a cigarette.

title: Heart.

question: Explain what the narrator is and has become.

question: Summarize the plot twist.

answer: It turns out the narrator is has become some sort of mechanized and/or roboticized version of themselves, and that they have no heart. It does seem, however, they they have retained their lungs, as they describe having a coughing fit. They do not have a heart and where that organ should be there are rechargeable batteries.

question: Summarize the narrator's relationship with Minnie.

answer: It seems that Minnie might be the narrator's partner or wife. The narrator seems to quarrel with her sometimes, but also seems to concede and to defer to her. This is shown by how the narrator decides they will apologize to Minnie about having been wrong about this whole procedure. The narrator is close to Minnie and thinks of her needs often.

question: Summarize the plus side of the narrator's situation, and the negative side.

answer: The plus, or positive side of the narrator's situation-or predicament-seems to be that they have elongated their life by making themselves seemingly robotic. They also note that they will be exempt from having to join Minnie for her Pilates classes. It seems that the narrator wants to feel fewer physical pains and less physiological exasperation. However, on the negative side, they are absolutely beholden to a pair of rechargeable batters, and should they neglect to maintain a charge in at least one at all times, they will perish shortly. Additionally, the narrator finds they would like a cigarette, though the reader is not told if that is possible or if it carries any consequences beyond the expected.


text:
**Part I**

Jim Hudson, stricken with an awful hangover, dragged himself into the kitchen and plopped himself onto the granite bar-stool. He let out a long sigh and ruffled both his hands through his hair.
“Good morning, honey,” his wife, Carrie, said lovingly as she served him a stack of pancakes and fresh pot of steaming coffee, “how are you feeling?”
“Like absolute shit. I think I had just one too many Whiskey Sours last night; you know how I can get carried away. What time is it?”
“8:15...I’m gonna be late for work. Finish up your coffee and pancakes; that should help that headache of yours. Make sure you feed Scrappy, Rags, Cupid, Cleo, Jar Jar, Rex, Neptune, and Onyx. And by the way, have you seen Waffles around lately? I thought I heard him meowing near the back door last night and spent about a half-hour looking for him.”
“Do you think I keep track of each and every one of these cats?,” Jim said with a smirk, “I was so plastered last night, I couldn’t even see my own feet.”
“Oh well,” said Carrie, “he’ll turn up...they always do. I gotta run! Don’t forget to feed the cats!”
“Yeah, yeah...see ya later.”
Carrie scurried out the door as Jim dug his knife into his last pancake. He cautiously sipped on his coffee, looking across the table at one of the cats licking its own paw. “Get off my table,” he hissed, making a shooing motion with his hand. Meanwhile, the titter-tatter of a lively golden retriever reached the room. “Hey, Buddy!” Jim’s face lit up, as he greeted the massive canine, patting its head as its tail swung from side to side. He got up and carelessly dropped his dish and utensils into the sink. He dumped the rest of his coffee down the drain, filled his mug with tap water, and washed 400 milligrams of ibuprofen down his gullet. He then grabbed a box of Fancy Feast from the cabinet and dumped an uneven amount of the mix into each of the nine bowls against the wall. Seconds after the sound of the pellets hitting the metal came a legion of cats, colliding into each other as they scurried towards each of their respective bowls. Jim scowled in disgust as he seized his coat and headed out the back door towards the house of Rupert Peabody, the Hudsons’ next-door-neighbor. The door creaked shut as the sound of the cats’ collared bells resonated throughout the empty house.

**Part II**

I was only twelve years old at the time. The teacher had arranged for our class to go on a fieldtrip to the zoo, which we were all very excited about. Nobody was as excited as I, though; everybody in the grade knew that Rupert Peabody was the animal-freak. We all darted to the school bus, each and every one of us wanting to sit near the back. The whole trip consisted of my classmates asking me about the animals we were about to see. It was my hour of fame; I was an expert on this subject and everyone knew it. Some kids wanted to see the elephants, and others wanted to see the birds. One of them finally asked me what I was most excited to see. “The cheetah,” I answered with great pride. I had always believed that in my past life, I was a cheetah. The idea of the cheetah, to me, was courage, strength, and majesty. My whole childhood, I had connected with this animal more than any human I’d met. This was the day I was finally going to meet one in person, and nothing was going to stop me.
	After about 45 minutes of walking in an orderly line through the small, caged-up world, it was time for lunch. We had seen the monkeys, the turtles, the birds, the giraffes, and the frogs, but still no cheetah. We sat at a bench in the plaza located in the center of the zoo, as my classmates dug into their homemade sandwiches and marveled over the delightful day they were having. I was too impatient to eat, so I told the teacher I wasn’t feeling well and ran to the Port-o-Potty a few yards away. I started towards the bathroom, waited for the teacher to glance the other way, and bolted towards the cages. I sprinted down the winding dirt path, my heart pounding and my lips stretched from ear to ear.
My heart stopped for a split second as my eyes locked with the magnificent beast lounging on a large rock a few feet in front of me. He had been waiting for me; he was calling me towards him. I stepped closer towards the cage and he stood up off the rock. At this time, whatever logic or reason I had in my brain must have melted through the pores of my skin, as I ignored the huge sign that read “DANGER: DO NOT TOUCH THE CHEETAH” and stuck my arm between the bars of the cage. The creature leapt through the air at the speed of light and snapped at my right forearm; my entire hand was detached in an instant. I fainted at the sight of my own blood spewing from my severed limb.
It has been 13 years since that day, and not only was I left with just one functioning arm, but with a life-altering mental illness as well. Ever since the incident, I have had the burning desire for revenge pulsing through my body. After about a year of this feeling haunting my life, I took out my anger on the next closest thing to the cheetah: a stray cat. I killed the innocent animal...killed it with my bare hand. My crime felt rewarding; it was a brilliant rush, like a drug. As time progressed, I began to kill more and more cats. It became an addiction – an addiction that keeps me awake at night. Now my habit is worse than ever, and it is impossible to quit. I’ve accepted my condition as something I simply must live with.
I’ve recently moved to a new town, in which my neighbor despises cats. Ironically, his wife owns many. It seems as if the universe might be acting in my favor, for once.

**Part III**

Jim stumbled over the minuscule step leading to his neighbor’s backdoor.
“You’d think that I would’ve learned to step over that thing by now,” he hollered to Rupert, who was standing in the kitchen, cutting the crust off his freshly prepared ham and cheese sandwich.
The sound of the knife (which was screwed onto some strange apparatus connected to his stump of a wrist) hitting the ceramic plate sent chills down Jim’s spine. He looked around the kitchen with a smirk, noting each and every piece of dirty kitchenware dispersed throughout the room. He knew he was in the presence of a maniac, but he didn’t care; there was an eerie sense of comfortability in the room.
“Hello Jim,” Rupert said calmly, “what brings you here so early?” He unscrewed the knife from his stub and dropped it on the floor in a nonchalant manner.
“Your little stunt went noticed a little sooner than I thought it would. I don’t know how she keeps track all those fuckin’ furballs. You killed...what was its name...Waffles? Yeah, you killed Waffles last night. Question: when you do this...’thing’ of yours, do you actually need to slaughter the cats? I mean, it would be a lot better on my end if you did something that seemed a little more natural...like with poison or something. She’s gonna get really suspicious, really quickly.”
“Unfortunately, physical contact with the animal is what I need to satisfy the urge,” Rupert sighed. His pupils constricted as he bit down on his sandwich in frustration.
Jim let out a long breath as he wiped his palm down his face. “I’m...having second thoughts about this.”
“We had a deal, Jim,” Rupert said sternly, almost choking on a piece of food.
“Ok, Ok, I know. Just try to do this a little more...tastefully, if that makes any sense. I have to go.”
 Jim walked out the door in a mild panic. He started back towards his house but had to stop halfway once he noticed he was at a loss of breath. Breathing heavily, he felt a cold sweat forming at his forehead. His heart became a woodpecker banging on the inside of his chest, trying to escape. His vision became blurry as he bent over, hands against his stomach, and vomited.
“Jim, Jim, wake up!” Jim’s body jolted upward at the sound of his wife’s voice. He hadn’t remembered going to bed, let alone walking into his own room. There was a sliver of light showing through the curtains next to his bed. He rubbed his eyes at the sight of the red LED clock that read 5:32. Life around him seemed to move in slow motion while he woke up until his vision focused on the tears streaming down his wife’s face, like heavy rain against a windshield.
“What’s wrong?,” he asked with more emotion than he had felt in a while.
Carrie, speechless, pointed a shaking finger towards the kitchen. Jim shot out of bed and ran to the kitchen to see the sliding door destroyed and the tiled floor layered with shards of glass. He grabbed a butcher knife from the drawer underneath the sink and tiptoed towards the dining room. His face grew white as he turned his head around the corner. The knife slipped through his numb fingers and hit the floor. The dining table was set with plates and silverware at each seat. In the center of the table laid a large bowl filled with an array of feline carcasses. A folded index card stood on its edges at the head of the oval table. Written in blood, the index card read: “Tasteful Enough?”

title: The Neighbor (Genre: Thriller, Horror)

question: Why did the Hudsons adopt so many cats?

answer: Jim's wife is very fond of cats.

question: Where was Waffles?

answer: Jim's neighbor Rupert killed Waffles.

question: What made Rupert believe that he was a Cheetah in his past life?

answer: This information can't be found.


text:
It was going to be one hour, tops. It was one of those things where you’re not quite sure why you’re doing it. We did it once and I guess that was it, we were committed. The lady knew us, so every year after, we got asked to do again.  My mom was not going to say no to her and well, I wasn’t going to say no to my mom. I’m 22. I know it sounds ridiculous but if you knew my mom, you wouldn’t say no either.

So here we are. My brother is trying to unzip my hoodie with one of these alligator grabber things. Of course, this one doesn’t have an alligator on the end of it. If we were in the gift shop of Rainforest Cafe, it would, but we’re not in a Rainforest Café, we’re in the back of my mom’s van. So it’s just a regular grabber.

Chris is two years older than me. He’s got this unique, indescribable sense of humor that borders on childish but is not nearly so simple. Shame I can’t describe it better. Anyway, I indulge him. The grabber bobs around right beneath my chin as he tries to line it up with the zipper. As long as he-

“Please stop,” I say in a flat but serious tone. I don’t like it when things touch my face. I’m not quite angry but I’m stern. Fortunately, my brother knows when to stop.

“Here we are,” says my mom as she puts the car in park, in case we weren’t sure. We come to the same spot every year, about half a mile from home. Our strip of road (which I will refer to as the Biozone...because why not?) is about 200 ft long on a road that I guess is busy enough. I don’t need to look; I know the trash will be there. The stretch is a weird one. It’s at this corner where a smaller road intersects this larger one at a very acute angle. At the corner, the road behind is only a few steps way. Further from the intersection the road behind stretches further away. The Biozone is from the corner until we hit this garden center property a little way down.

My good friend’s cousin, Joe, owns the place. He’s a cool guy. Hell honk when he drives by. And then the next time I see him at a bar, he’ll be sure to mention how ridiculous we looked. “The most innocent, church-going family, cleaning trash along the side of the road, like a bunch of convicts.” He loves it.

I grab the box of gloves and garbage bags. My brother has the grabbers. They probably have a better name than that. Obviously, I don’t know it. I’ve been calling them grabbers for almost ten years now, so we’ll just stick with that.

We have to wait for a few cars to pass before we can cross the road to the Biozone. Before I went to college, I would have described this as a busy road. Only after I went to college did it occur to me that I live in the middle of freaking nowhere. This has completely distorted my perception of what might be described as a “busy” road. Whatever.

When we get to the opposite side, we attack the Biozone. Like a well-organized offense breaking the huddle, no one needs to be told where to go. We take our positions. I dive into the brush. It’s like a puzzle. What is the optimal angle to approach the piss-filled Gatorade bottle in order to extract it from the labyrinth of branches and bushes that hold it captive? If I support myself with this tree, I can twist around this thicket of prickly branches and insert the grabber beneath the enemy defenses and untangle this Wawa bag from the branch it has attempted to strangle.

My brother is not into puzzles. He takes position just on the edge of the brush. He’s the relay man. Using the grabber, I’ll toss the cargo that I extract in his direction. Depending on how deep we both are, he will either toss it to my mom, the bagger, or place it in the bag himself.

We make our way across the Biozone. I wield my grabber like a fencer with his saber, dipping, dodging, poking, parrying, prodding, retreating. Mother Nature is no match for me. Water bottles, Gatorade bottles, liquor bottles, beer bottles, beer cans, coffee cups ; anything capable of containing piss, was in those woods filled with piss. Paper bags, plastic bags, cardboard, newspaper, the usual items were there as well. My brother absentmindedly relayed the goods and my mother bagged them. Those items were not the reason that I actually kind of enjoyed coming back every year. It was the unusual items that always piqued my interest. Never mind the dozens of people who, unable to stop to urinate, emptied their bladder into the nearest drink container that they promptly flung out the window. I want to know, what is your story, steering wheel of ‘09? You seem to have lost the reminder of your car, what happened? Or you, Mr. entire car hood of ‘06? How did you get to be 30 feet into the woods on the side of the road? Who in their right mind thinks “Well, it’s been real, car hood, but now it’s time to go our separate ways,” while launching their car hood into the woods?”

Near the end we come across it; near the intersection where the growth tapers down to just some taller grass and earth. It’s in the earthy section that provides a buffer zone between the road and the woods.  It has a squareish shape, somewhat rounded on its orange, traffic cone-colored edges. It’s maybe the size of one of those side dish plates that you get at a restaurant to eat the bread with. The center is filled with dirt. It looks like maybe it’s some kind of bowl. Since we’re near the road, Chris is right next to me. He’s bagging now. My mom couldn’t keep up with us earlier. She’s 20 feet further down the road, bagging the wreckage we uprooted further back.

“Well, we’re done. We’ll come back for you later,” my brother chides to my mom.

I’ve got a secure enough grip on this weird, rubbery bowl but it just won’t come up. I vanquished every foe I encountered while out in the Forbidden Forest, tangling with every manner of vegetable wildlife, but now this...thing is giving me a problem. It must be the angle. It’s always the angle. I grab it again and wiggle it from side to side. Here we go; it’s finally getting loose of the surrounding soil. I can see from the clearing soil that it goes down like four inches. I pull up again but it still won’t come up. Weird. It looks like it’s out. Looking closer...huh.

It goes deeper.

The dirt has cleared a bit so I can reach beneath the section that I’m starting to think might not actually be a bowl. I insert the grabber and well...grab. Aha. We got something. It’s narrower here. That’s why I couldn’t see it. I pull again but nothing. Chris is watching now.

“What the heck is this?” neither of us say. There’s no point in saying it because it doesn’t need to be said.

“Let me try and get in here,” my brother offers, his curiosity stimulated (which is saying something, out here on the side of the road). He gets his grabber and attacks from the opposite side. When we each have a secure grip, we lift up... and it finally starts coming.

Slowly the rubbery bowl rises out of the ground. Beneath, our grabbers come clear and we can see what we are holding on to. It’s a cylinder shape sprouting from the bottom of the bowl, the same orange traffic cone color. We continue to lift the bowl up.... and the cylinder shape continues to come out of the dirt. Four inches, six inches, eight inches, ten inches and on.

When I realized it was a gigantic rubbery penis, I did what anyone else would’ve done.

“Ugh! Ugh!”
“Oh god...”
“Put it in the bag! Put it in the bag!”

The transition from curiosity to horror was a quick one. Before the dildo sunk into the garbage bag and into the depths of my nightmares, I noticed that the rubbery bowl I had struggled with was not a bowl at all, but the backside of two plump rubber testicles.

“What’s going on?” I hear my mom ask over my shoulder.

“...Nothing.”

The gods smiled on us that day. The 20 feet of trash that separated my mother from my brother and I buffered us from a devastating trauma. The idea of unearthing that unholy monstrosity in front of my mom is ... utterly unthinkable. By some incredible fortune, I left the Biozone that day (mostly) unscathed and with a timeless tale.

Who throws a gigantic dildo out of a moving car? How in the hell did it fully penetrate the ground like the result of one epic thunderous thrust?

The questions...will go unanswered. The possibilities...infinite.

The steering wheel of ’09 and the car hood of ’06 have their charm, but they will forever be the undercard to the gigantic dildo, and the day we found him balls deep in Mother Earth.

Happy Earth Day.

title: [NF] The Unholy Find

question: What do the narrator and his family do every year, and what did they find this year?

answer: The narrator, his brother, and their mother all go to a patch of the road the narrator calls the Biozone. They gather trash into bags, unearthing various items along the way. This year, they find a car hood from 2006 and a steering wheel from 2009, but the most interesting find is the giant, orange dildo, almost fully inside the earth.

question: What does the story say about community service?


text:
“Where were you last night?” Max peered over my Economics textbook. He had a look of anticipation, as if he was waiting for some pain relieving gossip.

“I was home,” I responded innocently before he rolled his eyes at me. “Now, don’t bother me, I’m trying to focus.” Although normally I would use anything to distract me from school, I wasn’t about to involve Max in last night’s mess.

“Are you expecting me to believe you weren’t at Nina’s party?” He raised his eyebrows at me. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Frankly, no expectation in the world would have prepared me well enough. But I wanted to be there for Nina like she had for me. Perhaps I couldn’t fix her parent’s divorce, but I could at least attend her house party. Especially after her break up with Todd, the leather jacket douche that called her “babe” so much I would wonder if he knew her real name.

“I promise you’ll have a great time,” Nina had told me. And at first, I really did. There is something comforting about the stagnant smell of beer penetrating every fiber of clothing and hair follicle. Something nostalgic about repetitive rap songs preaching about the wonders of big asses.

Everything seemed normal at first. The music was pounding loudly and the dim lights carried shadows across the cramped living room. I could feel the air thickening.

Minutes before terror, I was standing unnoticed next to a group of girls I recognized.

“Someone told me her dad was abusive,” I heard one say with wide eyes.

“Yeah, apparently the neighbors called the cops on them,” another responded.

“Well, I wouldn’t point fingers just yet. Nina’s mom’s a bitch. Maybe she deserved it,” a brunette shrugged and took a sip of her drink right before our eyes met. Her face flared red as she realized her words had been overhead. I clenched my fists in rage.

“How about you all mind your own–”. My response was cut short by a piercing scream. I quickly stood up in alert. The room became still. The music stopped and those still standing looked at one another with puzzled looks. The source was nowhere to be seen. It came again, this time along with a cry. I recognized Nina immediately. I pushed my way across the living room and ran up the stairs before barging into Nina’s bedroom.

I noticed him first. His leather jacket shimmered in the moonlight as he stood tall and angry. A millisecond later, I spotted Nina on the floor. Hands covering her face in defense. The lack of light in the room didn’t stop the fierceness of her blood as it dripped down her temple and into her hair.

I stood still. My brain called in fear but my body made no response. Not even when Todd walked passed me, into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Nina remained on the floor. She held herself and rocked back and forth, letting silent cries out into the thick air.

“Don’t tell anyone.” She whispered.

&#x200B;

&#x200B;

“Hello?” Max snapped at me. “Are you going to tell me or not?” I stared at him blankly as the vivid flashbacks flew through my head. My heart stung in bitterness as I recognized that all I wanted to do was say it. To write it out in sharpie on all student lockers.

Nina’s bloody face burned in my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

title: [RF] Last Night Leftovers

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: The narrator, Max, Nina, Todd

question: WHo did the neighbors called the cops on?

answer: Neighbors called the cops on Nina's parents (gossip, rumors).

question: Who has an abusive dad?

answer: Nina's dad was said to be abusive (gossip, rumors).

question: Why was Nina's face covered in blood?

answer: Her boyfriend, Todd, hit her.

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator's friend, Max, asks where he was last night. He went to Nina's party but doesn't want to involve Max in the mess, so he lies that he was home. As Max feigns disbelief, the narrator recalls (to himself) that the party was normal until they heard Nina screaming. The narrator rushes to her room and finds Nina on the floor crying silently, her face bloody. Todd, her boyfriend, was angry and standing over her. When Todd left, Nina tells the Narrator not to tell anyone. He keeps his promise to Nina and doesn't tell Max, even though he feels bitter and wants everyone to know.


text:
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Jurgen Klopp insists Paris Saint-Germain will be far from his thoughts when he picks his line up to face Tottenham at Wembley.

The Reds will get their Champions League campaign underway against the star-studded French champions at Anfield on Tuesday night but Klopp won't hold anyone back for that contest.

"It makes no sense to think now about the PSG game because we have no clue anyway who will be ready for that," Klopp said.

"So we play the Tottenham game and then we have at least two days to think about that game.

"It is about different things – how fit is he? How is he in training? It's the competition, the opposition, it's a lot of things."

Saturday's clash with Spurs kicks off a run of seven games in three competitions across 22 days.

It will test the depth of Klopp's squad and he has urged those on the fringes to be ready to step up.

"There are a lot of talks with the players," he added.

"Sometimes the players say 'ah, I feel the intensity a bit', but most of the time they all say they feel completely fine. That doesn't help at all but it's the job to do.

"Sometimes there is a problem and we have that a little bit with lacking rhythm because we played the first four weeks with the same players but then they left for international duty.

"Shaq (Xherdan Shaqiri) played two games which is good for him and Dom (Solanke) played as well, so they all have more minutes and that's good.

"The players agreed to be part of a good squad - that means not all of them can start constantly.

[]

It will be Klopp vs Tuchel once more
"But the better you perform, the more likely it is you will play. And the fitter you are, the more likely you play again. So that all that affects (my selection).

"The higher the level is of all the players, the easier it is for me to change things. The Carabao Cup, maybe we can think about a lot of changes.

"We've done that in other cup games but now it's Chelsea. Can you go like that against Chelsea and say 'don't care'?

"For people it's really easy: he has to change, he has to do that. But we respect the opponent, we respect the competition, and we will line up a strong side for sure.

"How many changes we will make between games, I don't know at the moment."

question: How does the first paragraph fit into the article as a whole?

answer: The first paragraph is not part of the article itself.

question: What would have improved the team's rhythm?

answer: If players hadn't left for international duty.

question: What does Klopp mean by "changes"?

answer: Presumably changes in the makeup of the team.

question: What is the first line of the actual article?

answer: Jurgen Klopp insists Paris Saint-Germain will be far from his thoughts when he picks his line up to face Tottenham at Wembley.


text:
[] The PUBLIC SERVICES, TRANSPORT AND TRAFFIC UNION (, ÖTV) was a trade union representing transport and public service workers in Germany.

The union was founded in 1949, at a meeting Stuttgart. Unlike ithe pre-war General Union of Public Sector and Transport Workers, it did not represent postal workers (who joined the German Postal Union), nor commercial workers, but it was nonetheless the second-largest union in West Germany. By 1951, it had 785,000 members, and during the 1950s it concluded many collective bargaining agreements with states and municipalities. It affiliated to both the International Transport Workers' Federation, and the Public Services International.[1]

The union strongly supported the fall of the Berlin Wall, and in June 1990, some trade unionists in Magdeberg founded the ÖTV in the GDR. In October, Germany was reunified, and this union merged into the main ÖTV, which began recruiting members across East Germany.[2]

In 1994, the union was restructured, with its 41 departments grouped into six sections. By 1998, it had 1,582,776 members. It began working closely with the German Salaried Employees' Union (DAG), and in 2001, it merged with the DAG, the German Postal Union, the Media Union, and the Trade, Banking and Insurance Union, to form Ver.di.[3][4]

Presidents

    1949: Adolph Kummernuss[5]
    1964: Heinz Kluncker[6]
    1982: Monika Wulf-Mathies[7]
    1994: Herbert Mai[8]
    2000: Frank Bsirske[9]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

question: Who is represented by the Public Services, Transport and Traffic Union?

answer: Transport and public service workers in Germany.

question: When was the union founded?

answer: 1949.

question: Where was the union founded?

answer: Stuttgart, Germany.

question: How was the union restructured?

answer: 41 departments were grouped into six sections, and then merged with the German Salaried Employees' Union, German Postal Union, Media Union, and Trade, Banking and Insurance Union to form Ver.di.

question: When was the union restructured?

answer: It was restructured in 1991 and the mergers happened in 2001.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The Public Services, Transport and Traffic Union represented transport and public service workers in Germany from 1949 to 2001, when it merged with four other unions to form Ver.di.


text:
Image copyright Instagram

Social media users are posting pictures of wilted or bloodied bauhinia flowers to express solidarity with protesters in Hong Kong.

Platforms such as Facebook, Twitter and Instagram have been used to share news, pictures and messages of support alongside the images, as well as hashtags such as #FightForHongKong and #HongKongProtest.

Activists' attempts to storm government buildings gave way to the worst violence in the city for decades on Wednesday. Previously, days of protests had seen more than a million people take to Hong Kong's streets for predominantly peaceful demonstrations against plans which would permit extradition requests from authorities in mainland China.

-   Hong Kong extradition protests leave city in shock
-   Who are the protesters?
-   Why are there protests in Hong Kong?

Since sovereignty of the former British colony reverted to China in 1997, when the bauhinia blakeana, or Hong Kong orchid tree, was incorporated onto the territory's new flag, it has retained judicial and economic independence under the principle of "one country, two systems".

But many in Hong Kong worry the territory could be brought more decisively under China's control if the extradition bill passes.

Some amended their profile pictures on Facebook to incorporate the bauhinia flower.

Image copyright Geoff Cheng

And the protests have also won international support online.

In China, however, the internet is tightly controlled by the government and content on Chinese social media platforms is heavily regulated.

AFP journalist Pak Yiu reported images of the protests were being actively censored on WeChat , a popular Chinese social media, messaging and mobile payment app.

Advertisement

Video caption Police use tear gas on protesters
In Hong Kong, encrypted messaging apps such as Whatsapp, Telegram and Signal have played an important role in enabling organisers to coordinate the protests.

On Tuesday, the administrator of a Telegram group with 30,000 members was arrested for conspiracy to commit public nuisance, according to local media reports.

The following day, Telegram founder Pavel Durov revealed a massive cyber attack on the messaging service originated from China .

Crowds had largely cleared around government headquarters by Thursday morning. Activists have called for protests to resume on Sunday.

"We are trying to use the power of the people to tell the government to stop," Lee Cheuk-yan, a politician and activist told NPR .

"People have to go to the street to demand for the government to withdraw the bill. We will continue our protest and have a big march again on Sunday and next Monday."

A second reading of the bill has been delayed by Hong Kong's Legislative Council. It is unclear when this will take place, but the government maintains it is not backing down.

More on this story

------------------------------------------------------------------------

question: What is the significance of the bauhinia flowers?

answer: The bauhinia blakeana was incorporated into Hong Kong's flag when the colony reverted to China in 1997.

question: What are the protesters protesting about?

answer: They are protesting against plans to permit extradition requests from authorities in mainland China.

question: Where are the protests taking place?

answer: In Hong Kong

question: Describe the actions taken by the activists.

answer: Activists attempted to storm government buildings.

question: When did the protests take place?

answer: The year is not given, although protests took place the Wednesday of the week in which the article was written.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The article concerns protests in Hong Kong opposing plans to permit expedition requests from authorities in mainland China. Activists stormed government buildings on Wednesday, giving way to violence. On social media, people have been posting wilted or blooded bauhinia flowers to express solidarity with the protestors.


text:
An Australian millionaire and real estate mogul has advice for millennials struggling to purchase a home: stop buying avocado toast.

Tim Gurner, a luxury property developer in Melbourne responsible for over $3.8bn in projects, is facing heat for comments he made on 60 Minutes in Australia, implying that young people can’t afford to buy property because they’re wasting money on fancy toast and overpriced coffee.

“When I was trying to buy my first home, I wasn’t buying smashed avocado for $19 and four coffees at $4 each,” he said. “We’re at a point now where the expectations of younger people are very, very high.”

He added: “We are coming into a new reality where … a lot of people won’t own a house in their lifetime. That is just the reality.” Asked if he believes young people will never own a home, he responded: “Absolutely, when you’re spending $40 a day on smashed avocados and coffees and not working. Of course.”

The 35-year-old executive then offered a point of comparison, describing how hard he worked when he was young.

“When I had my first business when I was 19, I was in the gym at 6am in the morning, and I finished at 10.30 at night, and I did it seven days a week, and I did it until I could afford my first home. There was no discussions around, could I go out for breakfast, could I go out for dinner. I just worked.”

Gurner is not the first to suggest that young people’s love of avocado toast was making it harder for them to buy homes. Demographer Bernard Salt wrote in the Australian last year that if young people stopped going to “hipster cafes”, they could purchase property.

He wrote: “I have seen young people order smashed avocado with crumbled feta on five-grain toasted bread at $22 a pop and more. I can afford to eat this for lunch because I am middle aged and have raised my family. But how can young people afford to eat like this? Shouldn’t they be economising by eating at home? How often are they eating out? Twenty-two dollars several times a week could go towards a deposit on a house.”

Some compared Gurner’s comments to the recent controversial remarks of US congressman Jason Chaffetz, who suggested people struggling to afford health insurance should stop buying smartphones. “Maybe rather than getting that new iPhone that they just love and they want to go spend hundreds of dollars on that, maybe they should invest in their own healthcare,” he said.

Gurner’s spokesperson did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

question: Who is Tim Gurner?

answer: a luxury property developer in Melbourne

question: Who is Jason Chaffetz?

answer: a US congressman

question: Why does Tim Gurner think millennials can't afford to purchase homes?

answer: they spend too much money eating out

question: How much does Tim Gurner say avocado toast costs?

answer: roughly $20

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Tim Gurner, a luxury property developer in Melbourne, has criticized young people for eating out at the same establishments he frequents.


text:
There was once an old homeless man who lived on the corner of fifth and first, in a frigid alleyway that resembled underground Bangkok. Cluttered with heaps of trash and feces from the locals. It was nicknamed The Devil’s Taint by the crack-addicts that dwelled in its air of despair.
	 This old man was a heron addict has been for 12 years since he lost his job as a news anchor. Wife left him for the best man at their wedding, DeMarcus. She took the kids to Costa Rica so they would forget he ever existed. Yeah his life was in a real shitter. He would try to fix himself up and get his life straight. Every time he tried a black lab would come to keep him company, but would leave if he picked up a needle. The dog reminded him of the fortune he once had and lost at a snap of a finger. Happiness…

	Today’s the first of June, and the homeless man was ready for his Katabasis. He’s been preparing for weeks by now. The sun begins its descent down the horizon, and with its departure, arrived a familiar face. The black lab he adored. The dog approached him and laid its head on his lap, then fell asleep. With a smile on his face, he looked at the heavens and somehow felt at peace. Time passed, hours to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. It was around December when the tailored man came.
	The tailored man was in his mid 30’s, a stunning doppelganger to the homeless man’s past. He was in a rush when he scurried past the old man and the dog. Stunned the tailored man turned around to observe the dog. A joyous smiled appeared on his face. He turned to the old man with delight and asked, “How much for this dog?”
	Startled the old man replied, “He’s not for sale.”
	“How about $1,000,” protested the tailored man?
	“No,” the old man yelled.
	“$10,000,” the tailored man rebuttal.
	“No,” the old man yelled infuriated.
	The tailored man got down on his knees and begged, “Please I’ll give you a millionaire dollars this dog.”
	“Why do you want this dog so bad,” the old man asked?
	‘You see when I was a boy I had a dog named Maverick, who was a black lab. He looked exactly like that dog over there. One day my mother got sick of him and decided to let him go in the woods. I cried for weeks because I lost the only person who understood me. And now here I am looking at a clone of him. So please Sir, I’m begging sell me your dog.”
	The Old man contemplated whether or not to give up the dog. It was a symbol for everything he once had, but with the money he could get it all back.  Thoroughly thought through he decided to sell the dog. The tailored man’s faced lighted up like a virgin who was about to lose his virginity to a cheerleader. He signed a check, handed it over to the old man and left feeling whole again. As for the old man he started over again.
	Cleaned up and fresh out of rehab he invested his money into nanotechnology, which turned him into a Billionaire. He lived in 10-acre mansion with a 3-acre yard, Olympic sized ground pool and Jacuzzi. He had a trophy wife with a bust of a goddess, and trophy cars to match. This old man had it all, except the dog. The only true serenity he had in his life. Now he’s the tailored man. The empty tailored man.

title: False Smile

question: Where does this take place?

answer: The exact place is not mentioned, but it is said to resemble underground Bangkok.

question: Who is the old man?

answer: He is an unnamed man.

question: Why does the tailored man want the dog?

answer: It reminds him of his childhood dog.

question: What does the old man do with his money?

answer: He invests it into nanotechnology.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: A former new anchor becomes homeless after losing his job and family. He lives in the streets, where a black lab occasionally visits him. The dog leaves every time he does heroin. One day, a tailored man passes by and offers to buy the dog. At first the man is hesitant, but he finally takes the money. He becomes a billionaire, and ends up with everything except the dog, feeling empty.


text:
It’s the seventh of May and a young woman is here to pick up photos of her outing at a campsite somewhere in Maryland. She’s got on a lovely navy blue sundress with white anchors printed on it. The same sundress, as it goes, that she’ll be wearing on the eighth of July when her late model Chevrolet hits a wet patch on the pavement of a back road in New Hampshire and she’s killed on impact. She won’t have time to feel any pain, and Porter is glad of this because she is a very nice girl.

Following her is a very rude middle-aged man who is angry about the price of eight by twelve inch prints. He hits the counter with his fists (five times, Porter counted) before swearing loudly and marching for the door. “You just lost a customer. This is the last you’ll be seeing of me!” Of course this is incorrect, because he’s due for a fatal heart attack in two weeks. While Porter isn’t really glad of this, he cannot say he’s sorry either.

 The last in line is a man whose photos are of his granddaughter’s ninth birthday party. He has five years to go, with treatment. He has no idea of the tumor that’s taken up residence in the frontal lobe of his brain. His granddaughter, (Gabi, based on the name frosted in purple on her cake) will be around for a good long while. She’ll be a retired surgeon and ninety-five when she dies in her sleep. After the man with the tumor leaves, it’s time for the one-hour photo to close and for Porter to go to bed upstairs. He makes sure the still-unclaimed photographs are safely locked up for tomorrow, when the other lives and deaths will pick them up.

Porter’s name is not actually Porter. It’s the name on the little card that allows him to drive, and the name on the lease to the small apartment above the one-hour-photo. It makes little difference to him what he’s called, though, because he hasn’t heard his name in a very, very long time. You would say he was around thirty upon looking at him, but he’s older than anything. He’s very tall and he favors dark clothing, so he supposes this is where the stereotype of the big creature with the scythe comes from. He doesn’t have a scythe actually; he’d like to clear that up. He lives alone, with the exception of a goldfish that will die peacefully in a year.

The girl with the sundress is back the next day, the store’s first customer. Of course, today she’s wearing something else: black jeans and a white t-shirt. Porter asks how he can help her and she smiles apologetically, digs through her bag and lays a Polaroid down on the counter. “It’s not mine,” she explains, “It must have gotten in there by mistake.” Porter frowns slightly. She’s correct; he can’t quite remember who this one belonged to, but it wasn’t taken in Maryland. Porter’s never made a mistake like this before. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs. The girl gives a small laugh and brushes loose brown hair back from her eye. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just that one of the pictures I took is missing, and I was thinking that maybe it hadn’t been developed, and it was the best one out of the lot. Here, I have the negatives, it’s this one…” She motions for him to come closer and holds the strip to the light. The square she’s pointing at is a picture of a deer drinking from a lake. “I can have it to you by Wednesday.” Porter says after studying it. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” The girl cheers. “Hey, there’s a really good sandwich place just down the street. I was gonna run down there anyway; you should come with me, my treat.”

Her name is Margot. She’s twenty-nine and besides amateur photography, she works in an office and likes black coffee and turkey on rye bread.  She’s from Portland but she’s lived here since she came for college and “fell in love with the place.” Never married, no children.  Porter’s glad. She won’t leave anyone alone when she goes, except for the dog she’s mentioned a few times now. “I’ve been working on a project lately with nature photography. That’s why I went to Maryland; I heard it was beautiful this time of year.” “And was it?” He asks, stirring his coffee. She nods. “Even better than I’d imagined.” He’s been there a few times himself, and doesn’t understand what she sees in the place. Still, the way her eyes light up when she mentions it is very endearing.  “Where are you from?” She asks him suddenly. He glances up, startled. “Here.” He says, catching her eyes. That’s the trick, he’s found, to making someone believe him. “Growing up here must have been awesome. It’s really a great town.” She smiles. He smiles back. “Yes, it really is.”

The same back-and-forth continues until Margot glances at her cell phone and realizes that Porter should have re-opened the shop thirty minutes ago. She apologizes profusely, unnecessarily, as Porter assures her. It’s honestly the longest conversation he’s had in months, and he’s glad of that. He tells her so, and this seems to placate her a bit. When they reach the front door of the shop, she asks for his arm and digs a pen out of the front pocket of her purse, then writes seven digits and a happy face on his wrist. “Call me sometime, okay?” She says, more telling than asking. He nods wordlessly and smiles at her.  She grins, kisses her hand and waves. “See you!” she says as she walks away.

He does see her again, a few days after lunch at the sandwich shop. She comes into the store a half hour before closing time, wearing a blue skirt over black tights. “Hey.” She calls. He looks up from the computer screen, eyebrows raised. “Your picture.” He says, rising from his chair. He turns his back to rummage through a file cabinet. “Here it is.” She steps up to the counter to take it from his hand. “Thanks so much.” He nods. “Still have my number?” She asks, smiling wryly. Another nod. He’d written it on the back of a Chinese menu and taped it to his refrigerator. “Good.” She collects her photo and walks away.
He does call her, finally, at nine-thirty that night. He hopes she won’t mind, since he’s found it to be inappropriate to make phone calls after nine o’clock. She doesn’t seem upset, though; if anything she sounds pleased.  He asks if she’d like to come over on Saturday for dinner and movies. She says she’ll see what she has planned, but the laughter in her voice tells him she’s teasing him. He sets the phone down and wonders what to make.

Saturday night comes early and she’s there at the door, holding a handful of DVDs and a plate of cookies. “Sorry I didn’t bring more,” she says, thrusting the plate into his hands and eyeing the pot of spaghetti on the stove. “I’m crap at cooking anything that doesn’t come pre-packaged.”  She tilts her head at the plate and smiles apologetically. “It’s all right.” Porter says, laying the plate down on the kitchen table. “Thank you for bringing these. I didn’t think of dessert.”
The movies are pleasant enough; old comedies he doesn’t quite understand but he knows they make her laugh and that’s the important thing. Her laugh is high and clear and genuine and he often finds himself laughing with her although he fails to see the humor in seeing a Lung Cancer victim hit a Stroke victim in the head with a block of wood. At around eleven Margot holds out her hand and he takes it. At a quarter past she tries to kiss him and he lets her even though she isn’t laughing anymore.

The rest of May and June continue in much the same way; sometimes at his apartment, sometimes at hers. One evening she brings him to her bed with its striped quilt and tells him that she loves him afterwards, and he truthfully tells her the same. It is the Fourth of July and loud pops and crackles light up the sky and flash bright colors on her white ceiling. She tells him of her upcoming camping trip to New Hampshire and asks if he’d like to join her. He smiles and says he’d love to, but he has to watch the one-hour photo. He can’t be there. She seems disappointed, but shrugs it off quickly and offers to make coffee.

Margot visits the one-hour photo for the last time on the seventh. She’s wearing a dress again, although it’s not the one with the anchors. Porter is disappointed. He’d like to see her in it again before the eighth, since by then it will be stained and torn and not at all the way he’d like to remember it. Or her, for that matter. “I’m leaving tomorrow, bright and early,” she says. “I’m planning on getting some amazing shots, are you sure you can’t come?” Porter smiles at her and shrugs. “Maybe I’ll just have to follow you tomorrow. Not bright and early, mind you, but just maybe I will.” This makes her laugh again, and he’s glad of that. She grins, kisses her hand, and waves. “See you!” she says as she walks away.

title: One Hour Photo-First post.

question: What does the story say about the ways in which characters die?

answer: The young woman (Margot) will die in a car accident on a road in New Hampshire. The rude middle-aged man will have a fatal heart attack in two weeks. The old man has a brain tumor, and his granddaughter will die in her sleep at ninety-five. Porter's goldfish will die peacefully in a year.

question: What does the story say about Porter's family?

question: Summarize Porter's relationship with Margot.

answer: Margot visits Porter's shop to pick up photos of her outing at a campsite. She returns the next day, explaining that she received a wrong photo by accident and needs one of her photos developed. She gives Porter her number. After she comes back to pick up the photo, he calls her that night and they go on a dinner and movie date. They eventually start sleeping together.


text:
PKZIP is a file archiving computer program, notable for introducing the popular ZIP file format. PKZIP was first introduced for MS-DOS on the IBM-PC compatible platform in 1989. Since then versions have been released for a number of other architectures and operating systems. PKZIP was originally written by Phil Katz and marketed by his company PKWARE, Inc, with both of them bearing his initials: 'PK'.

History

By the 1970s, file archiving programs were distributed as standard utilities with operating systems. They include the Unix utilities ar, shar, and tar. These utilities were designed to gather a number of separate files into a single archive file for easier copying and distribution. These archives could optionally be passed through a stream compressor utility, such as compress and others.

Other archivers also appeared during the 1980s, including ARC by System Enhancement Associates, Inc. (SEA), Rahul Dhesi's ZOO, Dean W. Cooper's DWC, LHarc by Haruhiko Okomura and Haruyasu Yoshizaki and ARJ which stands for “Archived by Robert Jung”.

The development of PKZIP was first announced in the file SOFTDEV.DOC from within the PKPAK 3.61 package, stating it would develop a new and yet unnamed compression program. The announcement had been made following the lawsuit between SEA and PKWARE, Inc. Although SEA won the suit, it lost the compression war, as the user base migrated to PKZIP as the compressor of choice. Led by BBS sysops who refused to accept or offer files compressed as .ARC files, users began recompressing any old archives that were currently stored in .ARC format into .ZIP files.

The first version was released in 1989, as a DOS command-line tool, distributed under shareware model with a US$25 registration fee (US$47 with manual).

Version history

PKZIP

[PKZIP on a floppy disk]

-   PKZIP 0.8 (released on January 1, 1989) initial version
-   PKZIP 0.9 (released on February 10, 1989) supported reducing algorithm (from SCRNCH by Graeme McRae)[1] with four compression settings and shrinking. In addition to PKZIP and PKUNZIP, it also included ZIP2EXE, which required an external self-extracting executable header created by MAKESFX from the PKZIP executable package.
-   PKZIP 0.92 (released on March 6, 1989): In addition to bug fixes, PKZIP included an option to automatically choose the best compression method for each file. New tools included with PKZIP include PKZipFix.
-   PKZIP 1.01 (released on July 21, 1989) added Implode compression, while reduced files can only be extracted from ZIP archive. Imploding was chosen based on the characteristics of the file being compressed.[2] New utility included Thomas Atkinson's REZIP conversion utility (part of ZIP-KIT). PKZIP's default compression behavior was changed from fastest (Shrink) to best (Implode). Supported platforms include OS/2, DOS.
-   PKZIP 1.02 (released on October 1, 1989) includes new utility BIOSFIX.COM, which preserved the entire 80386 register set during any mode switches via INT 15H. OS/2 version added ZIP2EXE and 2 self-extracting archive headers.
-   PKZIP 1.10 (released on March 15, 1990): New features included authenticity verification, “mini” PKSFX self-extracting module, integrating self-extracting module into ZIP2EXE, ability to save & restore volume labels. Imploding was up to 5X faster and compression ratio was improved over 1.02. EAX register was always saved on 80386 or above CPU. Removed tools included BIOSFIX, REZIP, MAKESFX.
-   PKZIP 1.93a (released in October 1991): An alpha version that introduced a new compression method which Katz called “deflating”. It was supposed to be quickly followed by a final PKZIP 2 release, but there were numerous delays.
-   PKZIP 2.04g (released in January 1993): By the time the release was ready, fake 2.x releases were circulating, some of them malware, so an untainted version number was chosen instead of 2.0. This new version dispensed with the miscellaneous compression methods of PKZIP 1.x and replaced them with DEFLATE (although several levels of deflation were provided by the program). The resulting file format has since become ubiquitous on Microsoft Windows and on the Internet almost all files with the .ZIP (or .zip) extension are in PKZIP 2.x format, and utilities to read and write these files are available on all common platforms. PKZIP 2.x also supported spanning archives to multiple disk, which simply split the files into multiple pieces, and using volume label on each drive to differentiate each other. A new Authenticity Verification (AV) signature format was used. Registered version included PKUNZJR, PK Safe ANSI, PKCFG utilities.
-   PKZIP 2.06 was released in 1994. It was a version of PKZIP 2.04g licensed to IBM.[3]
-   PKZIP 2.50 (released on April 15, 1998) was the first version released for Windows 3.1, 95, NT platforms. DOS version of PKZIP 2.50 was released on 1999-03-01, as its final MS-DOS product. PKZIP 2.50 supported long file names on all builds, and Deflate64 extraction. DCL Implode extraction was supported on non-DOS ports. A new command-line product was introduced in Windows 95, OS/2, UNIX platforms, called “PKZIP Command Line” (later expanded to “PKZIP Server”), which featured new command line syntax.
-   PKZIP 2.6 was the last version to support Windows 3.1 and Windows NT for the Alpha and PowerPC platforms.
-   PKZIP 2.70 added email MAPI (i.e. Send To) support. Registered version included creation of configurable self-extracted archives, added Authenticity Verification (AV) Information. Distribution Licensed versions included enhanced self-extractors. Professional distribution licensed version could create self-extracting patch files, and includes self-extractors for several new platforms.
-   PKZIP 4.0 was an updated version of PKZIP 2.7. Version 3 was skipped as a result of PKZIP 3.0 Trojan.[4] It supported Deflate64 and DCL Implode compression, and the use of X.509 v3 certificate-based authentication.,[5] creation of Span or Split large .ZIP archives. Old PKZIP command line conversion tools were introduced.
-   On August 21, 2001, PKWARE announced the availability of PKZIP 4.5.[6] PKZIP 4.5 included ZIP64 archives support, which allowed more than 65535 files per ZIP archives, and storing files larger than 4 gigabytes into .ZIP archive. A version called PKZIP Suite 4.5 also included PKZIP Command Line 4.5, PKZIP Explorer 1.5, PKZIP Attachments 1.1, and PKZIP Plug-In 1.0.
-   PKZIP 5.0 was announced in 2002,[7] which introduced Strong Encryption Specification (SES) for the Professional version of the product, which initially included DES, 3DES, RC2, RC4 encryption formats, and the use of using X.509 v3 certificate-based encryption.
-   PKZIP 6.0 (released in 2003) added support for bzip2 (based on Burrows-Wheeler transform) compression, with Professional Edition supporting 256-bit AES.[8]
-   PKZIP 7.0 changed SES to use non-OAEP key wrapping for compatibility with smart cards and USB tokens. Support of creating AV authenticity verification archives was dropped. PKZIP could now create archives of the following types: ZIP, bzip2, GZIP, tar, UUEncoded, XXEncoded.
-   PKZIP 8.0 was released on April 27, 2004.[9] In addition, PKWARE renamed its PKZip Professional to SecureZIP.[10] Creation of ZIP archives with encrypted headers was available.
-   PKZIP 9.0 was the first version to unofficially support Windows Vista (as administrator).[11] Creation of RC2, DES-encrypted ZIP archives are dropped.
-   PKZIP 10 Enterprise Edition and SecureZIP 10 were released on i5/OS. It offered the ability to create ZIP64 archives for the target platform.[12] Desktop PKZIP version was no longer developed beyond version 9.

SecureZIP

-   On April 24, 2007, PKWARE announced the release of SecureZIP Standard Version 11 as freeware, available on www.securezip.com.[13] SecureZIP comes with SecureZIP Standard (SecureZIP for Windows Desktop), SecureZIP Enterprise, SecureZIP Command Line Interface, SecureZIP for Server, SecureZIP for Server with Directory Integration Module. At this point, only PKZIP for server remained in development. It added UTF-8 file name support, secure exchange of emails and attachments directly from Outlook or Office applications.
-   SecureZIP 11.2 added SHA-2 hashing (SHA-256, SHA-384, SHA-512 supported), FIPS-140 security mode.[14]
-   SecureZIP 12 was released in February 2008.[15]
-   SecureZIP 12.1 was released on June 3, 2008.[16] Freeware SecureZIP includes a free digital certificate and inclusion in the SecureZIP Global Directory. The certificate was supplied by Comodo.[17] Registration key was changed so keys from versions 8 or earlier no longer work.
-   SecureZIP 12.2 introduced SecureZIP Express, while SecureZIP Standard became shareware. SecureZIP Express did not include the Microsoft Office integration, but the registration cost was reduced to US$19.95. Registration key was changed so previous keys no longer work.
-   SecureZIP 12.3 added support of PPMd, LZMA compressions. Desktop version added Federal Desktop Core Configuration compatibility, 64-bit OS support, ability to rename a ZIP attachment when sending email, improved support for Windows Vista dialogs. Enterprise version added expanded support for setting policy for 64-bit systems.
-   SecureZIP 12.4 (released on December 14, 2009) added support for Windows 7, option to switch to “Office fluent”-style ribbon GUI, 64-bit edition for use with 64-bit versions of Windows Vista and Windows 7.
-   SecureZIP 12.5 (released on May 12, 2010) added integration with Microsoft Office 2010, custom alternative extensions for mailed .ZIP archives, extracting WavPack files within ZIP archives, extracting files from archives created on IBM z/OS using hardware compression tools, changes in FIPS Mode to support NIST algorithm changes affective end of 2010.[18]
-   SecureZIP 14 (released in October 2011) added support to create and extract OpenPGP files, support for digital time stamping of signed archives, support for processors with AES-NI instruction for faster AES encryption, ability to extract 7-Zip files and CD/DVD Data Image files, new Auto Select View, ability to preserve Zone Identifier information in downloaded files, support to add and extract NTFS alternate streams, added file search logic.
-   SecureZIP and PKZIP 15 for z/OS (released 2013-11-13) added features to expand offloading capabilities for z/OS and mainframe hardware, as well as compression capabilities based on a partnership with IBM.

.ZIP file format

To help ensure the interoperability of the ZIP format, Phil Katz published the original .ZIP File Format Specification in the APPNOTE.TXT documentation file. PKWARE continued to maintain this document and periodically published updates.[19] Originally only bundled with registered versions of PKZIP, it was later available on the PKWARE site.[20]

The specification has its own version number, which does not necessarily correspond to the PKZIP version numbers, especially with PKZIP 6 or later. At various times, PKWARE adds preliminary features that allows PKZIP products to extract archives using advanced features, but PKZIP products that create such archives won't be available until the next major release.

Compatibility

Although popular at the time, ZIP archives using PKZIP 1.0 compression methods are now rare, and many modern unzip tools are unable to handle “shrinking” and “reducing”, although “imploding” is usually supported.

Patents

Shrinking uses dynamic LZW, on which Unisys held patents. A patent for the Reduce Algorithm had also been filed on June 19, 1984, long before PKZIP was produced.[21]

Other products

PKWARE also used its PKZIP standards on following products:

-   SecureZIP (including SecureZIP PartnerLink)
-   PKZIP Explorer

[1] PKZIP 0.90 review (released on February 21, 1989)

[2] How to Become LZW Free

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] PKWARE Improves Efficiency and Security of Internet and Enterprise Network File Distribution

[7] PKWARE Announces Security-Enabled PKZIP 5.0

[8]

[9]

[10] PKWARE Releases New Version of PKZIP for Windows

[11] PKWARE Responses to Vista Readiness

[12] SecureZIP for i5/OS - FAQs

[13] PKWARE Announces Free-For-Life Simplified Personal Data Security Software

[14]

[15]

[16] New SecureZIP for Windows Desktop Brings Public Key Cryptography to Every Type of User

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

title: PKZIP

question: What does the text say about malignant software?

answer: PKZIP had to outmaneuver malware-related issues due to its name being used for malignant purposes. This resulted in PKZIP never releasing PKZIP 2.0, which was malware. They used the more unique version number 2.04. The same scenario happened about PKZIP 3.0, thus the next version number was changed to 4.0.

question: How does PKZIP accomplish its job?

answer: It used several compression arguments throughout its history, starting with algorithms like deflate, shrink, or implode. With the introduction of PKZIP v2.04, deflate became the default algorithm, offering several levels of deflation. Starting with version 5.0, PKZIP began supporting encryption of the ZIP files. Two new compression methods, PPMd and LZMA, were added in version 12.3, by which time the name was changed to SecureZIP.

question: What does the text say about WinZip?


text:
NICOLAS OSSELAND (born 22 August 1978) is a French former pair skater. With Sabrina Lefrançois, he placed fourth at the 1997 World Junior Championships, 12th at the 1997 European Championships, and 17th at the 1998 Winter Olympics. He later competed with Marie-Pierre Leray.

Following his retirement from competition, he began coaching in Luxembourg.

Results

With Lefrançois

+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| INTERNATIONAL                                                         |
+:=====================================================================:+
| Event                                                                 |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Winter Olympics                                                       |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| European Champ.                                                       |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| INTERNATIONAL: JUNIOR                                                 |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| World Junior Champ.                                                   |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| JGP Slovakia                                                          |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Blue Swords                                                           |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| NATIONAL                                                              |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| French Champ.                                                         |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
|  J. = Junior level; JGP = Junior Series (Junior Grand Prix)           |
| WD = Withdrew                                                         |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+

With Leray

       INTERNATIONAL
  ------------------------ --------- ---------
           Event
   European Championships
     GP Sparkassen Cup
     GP Trophée Lalique
   Golden Spin of Zagreb
     Winter Universiade
          NATIONAL
    French Championships
       GP = Grand Prix

title: Nicolas Osseland

question: What championships did Nicolas Osseland compete in?

answer: He placed fourth at the 1997 World Junior Championships, 12th at the 1997 European Championships, and 17th at the 1998 Winter Olympics.


text:
Why looking at the light makes us sneeze

(Image credit:

Getty Images

)

[(Credit: Getty Images)]

If you find yourself sneezing when you come from the dark into the light, you’re not alone. Jason G Goldman investigates why this sudden syndrome strikes.

I

In 1991, a University of Manchester pathologist named Emyr Benbow wrote a letter to the editor of the British Journal of Ophthalmology_._ "Even trivial symptoms are more easily tolerated if you can put a name to them," he wrote, "even if that produces only an illusory understanding of their significance". The name he was referring to was "photic sneezing". Benbow suffered from a curious phenomenon where moving from darkness into very bright light, caused him to reflexively sneeze. He found it of some comfort that "it occurs in normal people".

The first formal investigation of the reflex was probably made in the early 1950s by a French researcher named Sedan. He discovered that some patients sneezed when he shined his ophthalmoscope, used to examine the retina, into their eyes. His continuing inquiry into six such photic sneezers established that they would also sneeze when exposed to bright sunlight, flash photography, and in one case, an ultraviolet light. In describing the phenomenon, he noted that the sneeze only occurs just as the patient becomes exposed to light; they don't continue to sneeze even if continually awash in the bright glow of the Sun (or an ophthalmoscope).

[Doctors have found the sneezes only happen when a patient is first exposed to light (Credit: Science Photo Library)]
Doctors have found the sneezes only happen when a patient is first exposed to light (Credit: Science Photo Library)

Since Sedan wasn't able to find any discussion of light-related sneezing in the medical literature, he concluded it must be quite rare. But by the time that physician H C Everett, who seems to have coined the phrase "photic sneeze reflex", wrote about it in the journal Neurology in 1964, it seems as if quite a bit more was known about the condition.

For one thing, it was known to be somewhat more common than Sedan had assumed. Researchers would go on to estimate that it afflicts some 17% to 35% of the world's population: some 23% of medical students in Everett's study, and 24% of blood donors in another.

The tendency of some people to sneeze in response to bright light wasn't only just noticed in the last century; the Greek philosopher and scientist Aristotle observed the phenomenon as well. In his Book of Problems, he (or possibly his students) asked, "why does the heat of the Sun provoke sneezing, and not the heat of the fire?" He concluded that the Sun's heat aerosolises the fluids within the nose, which triggers a sneeze. The heat of a fire, on the other hand, not only vaporises those fluids, but also consumes them, thus drying out the nose, which actually inhibits a sneeze.

Never mind that he wasn't exactly spot on either in the cause for the sunny sneeze – it's light, not heat – nor in the explanation, but it means that the reflex was known to some perhaps as early as the third century BC.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG SNEEZE

We now know quite a bit more about the biology that underlies the photic sneeze reflex. For example, the reflex is now also known by the hilariously apt acronym Achoo, which stands for Autosomal Dominant Compelling Helio-opthalmic Outburst. "Autosomal" because the affiliated gene is located on one of the non-sex-linked chromosomes, and "dominant" because you only need to inherit it from one of your parents to express the trait.

In 2010, a group of geneticists led by Nicholas Eriksson of the genetic testing company 23andMe identified two single nucleotide polymorphisms, or SNPs, that were associated with the sunny sneeze by assessing the genotypes of nearly 10,000 23andMe customers. These SNPs are alterations to single letters within a person's genetic library. One is called rs10427255 and the other, about which there is somewhat less statistical certainty, is called rs11856995. One of them is located nearby a gene known to be involved in light-induced epileptic seizures, which raises the possibility that there might be some kind of biological link between the two syndromes.

[Driving from dark tunnels into the light can be dangerous if you're a photic sneezer (Credit: Getty Images)]
Driving from dark tunnels into the light can be dangerous if you're a photic sneezer (Credit: Getty Images)

There are precious few laboratory studies of the condition, but a Cleveland doctor named Harold H Morris III provided one case report. A 55-year-old woman referred to him had a history of suffering from seizures, both spontaneous and in response to light. She described herself as an "easy sneezer", but never really noticed if her sneezes could be a response to light as well. To find out, Morris shined some bright lights into her eyes in a variety of different ways.

He reported in 1989 in the Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine that he could make her sneeze by flashing lights into her eyes at a rate of 15 Hz. On average, the sneeze followed 9.9 seconds after the first flash. The flashes typically made her sneeze twice in a row, but at least once they induced three sneezes in rapid succession. "The intersneeze interval was two to four seconds" Morris carefully noted. As for the particular frequency at which his patient managed to sneeze, he suspects that it was nothing more than coincidental; there is no biological reason to suspect that there's anything unique or special about 15 Hz.

Despite the information that researchers have managed to amass on the subject, nobody quite knows exactly how optical stimulation of the eyes leads to a sneeze, but one possibility is that the eyes and the nose are connected via the fifth cranial, or trigeminal, nerve. Or it could be the result of a process called "parasympathetic generalisation". When a stimulus excites one part of the body's parasympathetic nervous system, other parts of the system tend to become activated as well. So when bright light causes the eye's pupils to constrict, that may indirectly cause secretion and congestion in the nasal mucus membranes, which then leads to a sneeze.

It sounds like it could be a fairly trivial issue but as Benbow pointed out in his 1991 letter, it can actually prove quite dangerous in certain situations. "I found that sudden exposure to sunlight when emerging from a road tunnel of sufficient length is sure to induce a sneeze, with accompanying momentary blindness," he wrote. Sunshine sneezing could also be detrimental for baseball outfielders and high-wire acrobats. Perhaps the need to avoid a mile-high sneeze also gave birth to that great fashion accessory: aviator shades.

_Share on_ _Facebook__,_ _Google+_ _or_ _Twitter__._

question: What is photic sneezing?

answer: Sneezing when you are exposed to bright sunlight.

question: How early was this phenomenon known about?

answer: At least the 3rd century BC as Aristotle wrote about it.

question: What percentage of the population has this condition?

answer: An estimated 17% to 35%.

question: What acronym is the condition known by?

answer: Achoo, Autosomal Dominant Compelling Helio-ophthalmic Outburst

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The article talks about why light makes us sneeze, and the history of scientific understanding of the condition. No one knows how optical stimulation leads to a sneeze, but it is a well documented condition going back to Aristotle.