The Swamp Monsters’ barbecue was to die for. We’d been neighbors just long enough not to ask about the particular provenance of the hunks of meat they served. There are, after all, things you just don’t do in polite company.

I’m thinking a red suit. Yeah, a nice red to go with the cherry tint I got at the salon yesterday. Suits line this section of the market corridor, a few shining like mirrors in the overheads. Most though are dull and unflattering shades of green, grey, or brown. They sag on the racks like

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I’ve never met a cannibal named Harvey. When my mother gave me that name, I suppose she also doubted the credential could ever find itself attached to those banal phonemes. But nay she was wrong; I am eater of flesh, connoisseur of the Homo sapiens, taster of gammy knees and tennis elbows. It is I who dines on the crème de la crème of the food chain—the dastardly human. Does that make me king of the food chain, then? An emperor?

Questions 1-4: Misery. Answer the following story problems using any method you like – provided it’s the method that I want you to use. Each problem is worth enough points to convince you that answering any incorrectly will earn you a grade that sabotages all of your future hopes. Calculators are not permitted.

Dear Auntie,

First of all, happy 80th birthday! I hope your social security check arrived. Guess what? Tim and I are having our wedding on August 20. And guess where we’re taking our vows? Koya-san, Japan! It’s the happiest place on Earth. It’s gonna be so cool.