<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5921629709116350740</id><updated>2011-12-07T23:49:23.338-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Z- Rated</title><subtitle type='html'>Not appropriate for minors (but miners are okay), prudes, government agents and/or ANYONE RELATED TO ME.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Madam Z</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00136166772469538966</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='22' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/R1l5FgO6f8I/AAAAAAAAAME/d_WivHWzgHk/S220/madamz.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5921629709116350740.post-2595929813584603154</id><published>2008-08-23T21:50:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T13:27:51.112-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;101 Things You’ve Always Wanted to Know About Me&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;1. I’m grouchy in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I’m often grouchy in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I’m seldom grouchy in the evening, unless someone persists in irritating me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I dislike the color blue, probably because my little sister Julie had blue eyes and everyone was always saying how pretty she was, and I had brown eyes and no one ever said how pretty I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Now I have green eyes and I’m very pretty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/RvsoyZ0btWI/AAAAAAAAAA8/MEYSdE8e6D0/s1600-h/redhead.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;6. My favorite color is red-orange and I have red-orange hair. It is very pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. When I was a little girl, my dad said that I ran like a turkey. Is that good or bad?.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Now I run like a gazelle. Okay, maybe a gazelle with three legs…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. When I was sixteen, my dad said that I played the piano like I had lint in my navel. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Now my navel is lint-free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I lived in foster homes, off and on, from age 4 to 9. It sucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. My mother was married five times. She was divorced once. That was before record keeping was computerized.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. I have been married twice and divorced once, but not in that order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. I’ve changed my first name three times. I like the final one a lot and will stick with it. It starts with a “Z,” which is my favorite letter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. When I was 13 I attempted to throw a rotten watermelon from a moving car onto the steps of my junior high school, but it landed on the curb. Stupid watermelon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. When I was 14, I got really, really drunk on straight whiskey and puked my guts out for the next several hours. That was a long time ago and hasn’t happened since. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid…or something like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. I went to four different schools in fourth grade. That sucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. My mother said that I was “a selfish brat,” just because I re-possessed the birthday gift that I had just given to my little sister. SHE WASN’T USING IT CORRECTLY, DARN IT!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Actually, I really was a selfish brat. I still am. GET AWAY FROM MY CHOCOLATE! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. I am an Atheist, goddamn it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. I pretend to be tolerant of religious nuts, but I think they’re stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. I think religious nuts should mind their own fucking business and stop trying to legislate morality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. I never use profanity except when it is warranted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. When I was 16, I necked with my high school History teacher. It was all his fault. He was too handsome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. When I was 26, I necked with my mother’s fourth husband. He was a good kisser, but a bad husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. I have shoplifted. Twice. When I was 14, I stole a wallet. When I was 25, poor and powerless, I walked out of the store with a shiny, new extension cord. Really!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. When I was 29, I went to a Halloween party, dressed as a tube of Crest toothpaste. My breath was minty fresh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. I know life isn’t fair, but why not? It’s not fair!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. I would like to impose a worldwide, absolute law that would require a minimum age of 50 for any and all members of any and all military or pseudo-military groups. I’m pretty sure that would put the brakes on war. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30.I do not wish to listen to any popular music produced after 1985. It is not music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. I realize that I sound like my father when I say that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. The only sport I was ever good at is Poker. Make that “the only sport I didn’t SUCK AT was Poker.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Yes, I do realize that I have 69 more things to come up with. Quit nagging me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. 69 is my favorite number.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. It’s difficult to concentrate when I’m thinking of it, however. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/RvsuQ50btZI/AAAAAAAAABU/CakE6pgJItA/s1600-h/CHIMP.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;36. Chimpanzees are my favorite animals, but I wouldn’t want to be one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37. I like to dance to salsa music, especially when it’s hot and humid and the sweat pours down all my crevices. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;38. Not that I have any more crevices than the next guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39. I lived in a boxcar for the first year of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40. I liked it there, because I had no pesky little sisters yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41. I like to look at big, muscley men, but I don't want them to shave their bodies. 42. I went to a lowbrow Chippendale-style performance once. Those guys were so incredibly sexy; I was ready to tear their tiny little briefs right off of them! All of the women in the audience were hootin’ and hollerin’. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43. I wish I had a pair of ruby slippers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;44. I wish I could make myself invisible, at will. Oh...wait! You can't see me, can you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45. I wish I were fluent in Spanish. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46. I’m glad I’m not a cannibal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;47. I’m glad I’m not pregnant. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48. I’m glad I’m almost half-done with this list. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49. When I was 29, I went white-water rafting on the Green River and our raft ran straight into a huge rock in the middle of the stream and I didn’t fall out of the raft, which was a good thing, because I can’t swim. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50. Once upon a time, I was nude-sunbathing on a small, rocky island in Lake Powell, thinking I was all alone, when a motor boat with several men came putt-putting up next to me. I just rolled over on my stomach and closed my eyes, willing them to go away. They did, eventually.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51. And then there was the time when I chased a bunch of armed hunters off of our farm, with nothing but my anger and a lot of profanity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;52. Two years ago I was in Italy, and I found my own way from Assisi t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/RvswDZ0btaI/AAAAAAAAABc/D4XHmOc9sD0/s1600-h/GONDELIER.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;o the Tiemplo di Minerva, using only my steely-eyed determination and 12 words of Italian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;53. I wish I were fluent in Italian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;54. I wish I could make love to one of the gondoliers in Venice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55. I wish I could make love to that glassblower in the glass factory I visited in Murano. He was a big, muscley man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;56. I was proud of myself when I made it to the top of Angel’s Landing, in Zion National Park, in Utah, even though I was certain I would not live to include it in this list.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;57. Last year, I forded a wild stream in Kauai, holding onto a rope that was entirely inadequate and I would have been swept over the falls if a big, muscley surfer-dude had not come to my rescue. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;58. I almost always wear underwear when I’m in public. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;59. haven’t gone hang-gliding yet. I’m waiting until the doctor tells me I have only six months to live. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;60. I fucked boyfriend du jour in a graveyard once. Once was enough. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/RvsjQ50btTI/AAAAAAAAAAk/rkrXKBJjQqo/s1600-h/graveyard.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;61. I tried to commit suicide once, but it didn’t work. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;62. Now I take Zoloft and I love being alive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;63. I am covered with tatoos. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;64. When I was 15 I went to a hypnotist and he tried to hypnotize me, but it wasn’t working, and I told him it wasn’t working and he got mad at me, so I pretended it was working, and he was so thrilled with his success that he wanted me to be his subject in a demonstration he was going to give.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;65. I had an uncle who was a dirty, fucking, pedophile creep and I hope he burns and rots in hell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;66. Not that I hold any grudges or anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;67. I get annoyed with adults who don’t know the difference between “their,” “they’re,” and “there.” &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;68. I get annoyed with adults who think that you make a plural by adding apostrophe s to a noun. e.g. “I have two husband’s.” Didn’t you go to school, you pitiful excuse for a human being? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;69. I get annoyed with everyone and anyone who starts a sentence with the word “Me,” as in “Me and Mike were gittin’ it on!” It’s “Mike and I,” motherfuckers! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;70. Sometimes, I get annoyed with myself for being so intolerant, but mostly I’m okay with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;71. I ate frog legs once, just to be able to say I had done it. It was nasty. I felt so guilty. Poor little frogs. As if they don’t have enough problems, with loss of habitat and all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;72. I tried escargot too. I brushed my teeth about six times afterwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;73. Talk about guilt! For the first thirty years of my life, I felt guilty about masturbating. Now it’s all good. It has been helpful to read blogs about the shame-free way that men relate tales of their solo escapades. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;74. I have never faked an orgasm. And if you believe that, you must be a man. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;75. I go to the gym three times a week and work out for 1½ hours each time. But I feel guilty that I’m not getting the exercise by doing actual, productive work. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;76. I feel guilty about feeling guilty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;77. I hate cooked carrots, but I don’t feel guilty for hating them. They deserve it. Stupid carrots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;78. I’m left-handed, but I masturbate with my right hand. Go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;79. I plan to wash all the windows in my house, as soon as hell freezes over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;80. I thought I was in love once, but it was just gas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81. I can read palms. You will lead a long and happy life…oh dear, wait…never mind, let’s talk about something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;82. I’ve never met a vibrator I didn’t like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;83. I am really hungry right now, so I’m going to go get something good to eat and try not to feel guilty about it, even though I know I will, because I promised myself I wouldn’t eat anything fattening tonight, but everything that sounds good to me is fattening!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;84. No man has ever beaten me up, but if one ever tries, I can guarantee he’ll be sorry. 85. I float like a moth and sting like a wasp…on steroids. I’m a pretty good boxer, too. (Not really.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/RvsmU50btUI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Uijj6Av85kk/s1600-h/boxing.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;86. My ex and I went to a nudist camp several times, back in the 80’s. It was an eye-opening experience. I was amazed at the variation in size, shape, color, and condition of the bare-naked penises. Most of the men were able to keep them deflated, but one well-endowed teenager was at half-mast most of the time. It was quite entertaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;87. I learned the hard way that I must never tell a Jehovah’s Witness missionary that I am an Atheist. It is like waving raw meat in front of a lion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;88. When I was five years old, a neighbor girl hit me across the head with a two-by-four. So I killed her. (Only one of these sentences is true.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;89. While I’ve never done any actual research on the subject, I suspect that lesbians give better cunnilingus than men do, since they actually know THE LOCATION OF THE CLITORIS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;90. I can crush Japanese Beetles with my bare fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;91. I think the sale and use of marijuana should be legal. Period! Exclamation mark:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;92. My favorite pen is in the shape of a flamingo, with lots of bright pink feathers on top of its head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;93. Sometimes I wish I had a pet, preferably an orange-haired kitty, but then I smoke a joi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;nt and forget about it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;94. I tried smoking oregano once. Mama mia! It was disappointing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;95. I cry over spilt milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;96. I truly believe that two wrongs make a right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;97. You CAN have your cake and eat it too. It will be stored in that roll of fat around your waist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;98. Sometimes I think I may have a split personality. But then someone inside my head assures me that I don’t.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;99. A rose is a rose is a rose, unless it’s a banana. In that case, it might have a “split” personality. Get it? A banana split? Never mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;100. I’m nearing the finish line! My heart is pounding like an angry judge’s gavel. I’m out of breath. I think I may throw up! But no, I can’t quit now, no matter how much you would like me to!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;101. I cooked a man in Crisco, just to watch him fry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5921629709116350740-2595929813584603154?l=madamzelda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/feeds/2595929813584603154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5921629709116350740&amp;postID=2595929813584603154&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/2595929813584603154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/2595929813584603154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/2008/08/101-things-youve-always-wanted-to-know.html' title=''/><author><name>Madam Z</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00136166772469538966</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='22' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/R1l5FgO6f8I/AAAAAAAAAME/d_WivHWzgHk/S220/madamz.JPG'/></author><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5921629709116350740.post-1920254868931245526</id><published>2008-08-03T23:48:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T00:51:51.281-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Regrets, I Have a Few</title><content type='html'>I got careless, and blew my anonymity. So, to protect myself from any further humiliation, I have deleted my naughty posts.  From now on, my posts will be suitable for small children, clergy and shellfish. Excuse me, while I go shoot myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5921629709116350740-1920254868931245526?l=madamzelda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/feeds/1920254868931245526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5921629709116350740&amp;postID=1920254868931245526&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/1920254868931245526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/1920254868931245526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/2008/08/regrets-i-have-few.html' title='Regrets, I Have a Few'/><author><name>Madam Z</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00136166772469538966</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='22' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_7YAP8wwSFEI/R1l5FgO6f8I/AAAAAAAAAME/d_WivHWzgHk/S220/madamz.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5921629709116350740.post-8367622340214892388</id><published>2007-11-01T20:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T23:47:12.791-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5921629709116350740-8367622340214892388?l=madamzelda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/feeds/8367622340214892388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5921629709116350740&amp;postID=8367622340214892388&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/8367622340214892388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5921629709116350740/posts/default/8367622340214892388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamzelda.blogspot.com/2007/11/chapter-7-grand-climax-oh-yes-please.html' title=''/><author><name>Madam Z</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00136166772469538966</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='22' 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