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Fuels backyard get-­togethers
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A group of campers have been on vacation so long, that they’ve forgotten the day of the week. The following conversation ensues. Darryl: What’s the day? I don’t think it is Thursday, Friday or Saturday. Tracy: Well that doesn’t narrow it down much. Yesterday was Sunday. Melissa: Yesterday wasn’t Sunday, tomorrow is Sunday. Ben: The day after tomorrow is Saturday. Adrienne: The day before yesterday was Thursday. Susie: Tomorrow is Saturday. David: I know that the day after tomorrow is not Friday. If only one person’s statement is true, what day of the week is it?
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I have palms but not on hands, I offer foods from distant lands, When at my peak you’ll see me smoke, I’m famous for my friendly folk, My flowers grow and yet they lay, There’s fire where a man will play. What am I?
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Bouncing Bob was riding a particularly frisky horse when suddenly its bridle came off. As they raced down the road, a screaming Bob clung to the horse’s ears for dear life. Out of the corner of his eye, Bob saw a car coming, and realizing the horse was completely out of control, he panicked. Flailing his arms about, he accidentally caused the horse to come to an abrupt halt. What could Bouncing Bob have done to make the horse stop?
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Marking mortal privation, when firmly in place. An enduring summation, inscribed in my face. What am I?
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A man is twenty years old but has only had five birthdays. How is that possible?
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