◉ Who is Lincoln’s logger?

◉ What has three legs, balances on a stick, and reads the newspaper?

◉ What’s extremely flat, likes attention from strangers, and feels most at home on the floor?

◉ Take the hole out of it and it’s half. Read it a bedtime story and it’s prudish. What is it?

◉ Seven eyebrows more than hairs; more than sheets it rarely wears; then it makes a stop at Zayre’s. Whom I speaking of?

◉ What are dangerous to your grades, essential to the liberal arts ideology, and more afraid of you than you are of them?

◉ Who takes Accutane instead of coffee for improved performance?

◉ Explain Hegel’s dialectical method.

◉ What’s universally hated, may or may not exist, and makes a perfect scapegoat for literally all of your problems?

◉ Unity and whole; unity and hole; gaping esoterica obfuscated strung out in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

◉ Chocolate and caramel sauce it has; drink it a lot and I am glad; coffee it sometimes can be graced to include; what am I, if not in the nude?

◉ (MB)(PQ)

◉ What’s slow to get moving, quick to get distracted, and secretly hoping to get more Christmas candy for very low prices?

◉ It was a rainy day in south-central Georgia in the peak of the hot summer months. I’m talkin’ August. The town of Albany, GA has a big state park. The Chehaw park. But us locals call it Lover’s Getaway. But sometime in the peak of August in the southern hot humid hellish summer it froze over. You may wonder why this was. I wondered too. But one thing was for sure: It was not a lover’s getaway anymore—that was certain. A fable, if you will. Not so much a riddle.

◉ [{(SP)(QR)}(RW)]

◉ Shoes and other wares I sell; but what’s my name I will not tell; I urge you to think long and deep; but about my name don’t say a peep! Who am I?