Favorite Movie | Quizalize

Timmy: What’s that, Jimmy? Jimmy: This is my guitar. Playing the guitar is one of my favorite hobbies. Timmy: When do you play the guitar? Jimmy: I play the guitar with my band. We usually play during the week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Timmy: What about Tuesday? Jimmy: I always work on Tuesday nights? I work at the seafood restaurant. Timmy: Do you play the guitar on Friday? Jimmy: No, I don’t. I usually go to the movies on Friday.

Vocabulary List 1. Avocation Definition: A hobby or activity someone enjoys doing in addition to their main work. Example: Drawing cartoons was his favorite avocation after school. 2. Supercolossal Definition: Extremely large; even bigger than enormous. Example: They ordered a supercolossal pizza to share. 3. Repress Definition: To hold back or keep feelings or thoughts hidden. Example: She tried to repress her anger during the argument. 4. Subliminally Definition: In a way that affects the mind without someone realizing it. Example: The music subliminally made the store feel calmer. 5. Thrombosis Definition: A medical condition where a blood clot forms inside a blood vessel. Example: The doctor warned that lack of exercise can increase the risk of thrombosis. 6. Sclerosis Definition: A hardening of body tissue, especially arteries or organs. Example: The patient was diagnosed with sclerosis that affected his mobility. 7. Distortion Definition: A change that makes something appear different from what it really is. Example: The funhouse mirror caused a distortion of her reflection. 8. Philanthropy Definition: The act of giving money or help to improve the lives of others. Example: His philanthropy helped build a new library for the town. 9. Prevarications Definition: Lies or evasive statements used to avoid telling the truth. Example: The teacher grew tired of the student’s prevarications about missing homework. 10. Syndrome Definition: A group of symptoms or behaviors that occur together. Example: The doctor studied the syndrome to better understand the illness. 11. Schizophrenic Definition: Relating to a mental disorder where a person may have difficulty distinguishing reality from imagination. Example: The character in the story showed schizophrenic behavior. 12. Subsidize Definition: To support financially, usually with money from the government or an organization. Example: The city decided to subsidize public transportation. 13. Phenomenal Definition: Very remarkable or impressive. Example: The athlete gave a phenomenal performance in the race. 14. Demented Definition: Showing disturbed or irrational behavior. Example: The villain in the movie had a demented laugh. 15. Patron Definition: A person who supports or regularly visits a business, artist, or organization. Example: She was a loyal patron of the local bookstore. 16. Cultural Lag Definition: When ideas and beliefs take longer to change than technology or society. Example: Cultural lag can make it hard for laws to keep up with new technology. 17. Omens Definition: Signs believed to predict something that will happen in the future. Example: Some people think black cats are omens of bad luck. 18. Antagonistic Definition: Showing hostility or opposition. Example: The rival teams were antagonistic toward each other. 19. Voluptuous Definition: Curvy and attractive in a full, rich way. Example: The sculpture showed a voluptuous figure. 20. Oscilloscope Definition: A device used to view and measure electrical signals. Example: The scientist used an oscilloscope to study the sound waves. 21. Putrid Definition: Rotting and giving off a very bad smell. Example: The garbage smelled putrid after sitting in the sun. 22. Fixated Definition: Focused or obsessed with something. Example: He became fixated on winning the competition. 23. Mundane Definition: Ordinary, dull, or routine. Example: She was tired of the mundane chores she had to do every day. 24. Ghouls Definition: Evil or ghost-like creatures that feed on the dead in stories or legends. Example: The haunted house story was filled with ghouls and monsters. 25. Maladjusted Definition: Unable to cope well with the demands of life or society. Example: The counselor helped the maladjusted student deal with stress. 26. Incongruous Definition: Not fitting in; out of place. Example: The fancy chandelier looked incongruous in the small cabin. 27. Tribute Definition: Something done or given to show respect or admiration. Example: The concert was a tribute to the famous musician. 28. Audibly Definition: In a way that can be heard clearly. Example: He audibly sighed when the test ended. 29. Proficiency Definition: Skill or competence in doing something. Example: Her proficiency in math helped her tutor other students.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Create questions based on the following text Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll.

Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll. Can you make 5 questions based on the text

🧠 Game Objective: Agents analyze partial client profiles, then choose the best discovery questions to uncover the hidden insurance need. You’ll present: A brief, vague client case A list of potential fact-finding questions (mix of good/bad) The agent selects up to 5 questions Points are based on: How many “high-value” questions they choose Whether their questions align to the true need Bonus: If they uncover the hidden clue or issue (revealed after) 🎯 Quiz Format for Quizalize: Question Type: Multiple Select (choose up to 5) Scoring: 1 point per strong question, 0 or -1 for irrelevant/weak questions Bonus Reveal Slide: Show the full case need after each question 🔍 Sample Quizalize Scenario Set 🔹 Client Case #1: "James & April" James (38) is a freelance graphic designer. He and April (36) have one 3-year-old child. They just moved into their first home with a $400k mortgage. James doesn’t currently have employer benefits. April works part-time and doesn’t have group coverage. Question Prompt: Choose up to 5 questions to uncover James and April’s real protection need. Answer Options: ✅ What income would April need if you weren’t here to support your family? ✅ Do you have any existing life insurance or savings to cover the mortgage? ✅ How long would you want your family financially protected if something happened to you? ✅ Do either of you have any disability coverage? ✅ Would you want your child’s future education covered if something happened? ❌ How much do you currently pay for car insurance? ❌ Do you see yourself buying another house soon? ❌ What’s your favorite thing about your neighborhood? ✅ Hidden Need: Income replacement + mortgage protection for a non-benefits freelancer. 🔹 Client Case #2: "Rosa" Rosa is 29 and single. She recently got a promotion, moved into a new apartment, and is paying off $45k in student loans. She loves to travel and has no dependents. Answer Options: ✅ If something happened to you, who would take care of your student loans or final expenses? ✅ Do you have any emergency savings or a safety net? ✅ Would you be interested in locking in permanent coverage while you're young and healthy? ✅ Do your parents or anyone else rely on you financially, even occasionally? ❌ Are you planning to have children in the next 6 months? ❌ Do you want a pet in the next year? ❌ Do you have renter’s insurance? ✅ Hidden Need: Final expense coverage + early whole life for cash value & lock-in pricing. 🔹 Client Case #3: "The Smith Family" Mark (45) and Tasha (42) have two teenagers, ages 13 and 16. Mark makes $120k as a consultant; Tasha runs their household. They just finished paying off a second mortgage. They’re “starting to think about college and retirement.” Answer Options: ✅ Would you want the kids’ college plans funded if something happened to you? ✅ Do you have enough coverage to protect your spouse’s lifestyle if your income stopped? ✅ Have you considered combining life protection with cash value to support future goals? ✅ How are you currently saving for retirement? ❌ Have you started planning your estate yet? ❌ Do you plan on buying another property this year? ✅ Hidden Need: Blended whole/term strategy for income replacement and cash value for college/retirement. 🎮 Bonus Twist Slide (after each case): 💥 Hidden Need Revealed! Here’s what many missed: James has no group benefits — he needs full protection as a freelancer.

Ocean Animals Many kinds of animals live in the ocean. They are part of the ocean community. Let's meet some of these ocean animals. Most of the ones in this book are mammals, fish, or reptiles. I am a dolphin. I have a sleek body and a strong tail to swim fast. I live in a group called a pod, and I like to eat fish. I whistle to talk to other dolphins. I am a walrus, and I have ivory tusks. I use them to dig for clams and to protect myself. I live on ice and in cold water. My thick layer of fat keeps me warm. I am a hammerhead shark, and my head has a very funny shape. My eyes and nostrils are at the ends of lobes. I like to eat fish. I am a California sea lion. I am smart, noisy, and playful. I bark like a dog, and I am covered by short fur. I eat squid, octopus, and fish. I am an octopus. I have a soft body and no skeleton. I have eight arms with suckers. I shoot black ink from my body to hide and escape from danger. I can also change the color of my skin. I am a great white shark. I am a large and fierce shark. I have very sharp teeth that are shaped like triangles. I eat seals, dolphins, and fish. I am a manta ray. I have fins that look like wings. I am related to stingrays, but I do not sting. I am a sea horse, but I am not a horse. I am a fish. I change color to hide. Shrimp are my favorite food. Male sea horses, not females, carry eggs until they hatch. I am a leatherback turtle, the biggest turtle in the world. I lay eggs on land. Jellyfish are my favorite food. I am covered with leathery skin instead of a shell. I am a blue whale. I am the largest mammal ever to live. I make deep sounds that move through water. I eat tiny animals called krill. The ocean is home to all these animals. Many of them are endangered. They all suffer because of pollution and hunting. Keeping our oceans clean will help keep these animals alive.

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