Answer #146 - I'll tell you tomorrow

Okay, so, there are two doors.  Behind one is freedom, behind the other is certain death.  At one door stands a man who only tells lies, at the other door stands a man who only tells the truth.  You can ask one question.  Same question for each man.   

What would the Question be?
 
I like riddles.  Maybe not the way The Riddler likes riddles, or serial killers like riddles, but I generally like them.  If they don't require higher mathematics and an intricate knowledge of the workings of a carburetor.

As the infamous Karl Kraus says, "A writer is someone who can make a riddle out of an answer."

Or, as the less infamous Sarah Jessica Parker says, "It's like the riddle of the Sphinx... why are there so many great unmarried women, and no great unmarried men?"

Though I'm not in the market for unmarried men, I get the illusion of some control if I can solve a riddle.  Also, I get the illusion that much of my brain is not, in fact, atrophying as I wallow in repetition, day in and day out, praying for some break in the routine, some meteorite or some such out of the ordinary event that only involves some element of shock, excitement and a little fear, but no bloodshed or long-term skin damage that will require dermabrasion or laser resurfacing.
 
At night I often dream of flying.  That's out of the ordinary. Usually wearing a flowy white dress.  Look at me, I'm Mary Shelley, dreaming of flying whilst crafting my enigmatic Frankenstein(s) and playing footsy with Lord Byron (when Percy's not looking).  I always wake up in a great mood when a little wind has blown up my skirt and I'm looking over the skyline like it's Disneyworld...

Ah, too much information.

But I like a good riddle.  And a good game of footsy with a dead poet.