A non-stop marathon is the shared favourite sport of three brothers.
*The oldest one is fat and short and trudges slowly on.
*The middle brother's tall and slim and keeps a steady pace.
*The youngest runs just like the wind, speeding through the race.
"He is young in years, we let him run!" the other two brothers explained, "'because though he is surely number one, he is second, in a way." Why is it?
With pointed fangs I sit and wait; with piercing force I crunch out fate; grabbing victims, proclaiming might; physically joining with a single bite. What am I?
A girl says this to her best friend: “I was born in 1955, and I celebrated my 17th birthday last weekend.†Her best friend thinks she’s lying, but she’s actually correct. How is that possible?
Its something that each of us devours,
Not just us but birds, beats, trees, and flowers,
Frets iron and nibbles steel,
Toil hard stones to meal,
Exterminates king, collapse town,
And blows the mountains down.
When Jack was six years old he hammered a nail into his favourite tree to mark his height. Ten years later at age sixteen, Jack returned to see how much higher the nail was. If the tree grew by five centimetres each year, how much higher would the nail be?
