<?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-11261530</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:41:21.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>whats this</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>blackest ass</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05864608591684898071</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11261530.post-112528476632175082</id><published>2005-08-28T19:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T20:06:06.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>who knows</title><content type='html'>why do people do they things that they do? does anyone know? why, when you think you know someone, you find out one day, could be minutes, days, even years from the moment you met them, but you find out that they arent who you thought they were. everything starts to change and you dont know why.  and you slowly start to realize that you have absolutely no control over it.  i think that might be the hardest part,   why do people lie? they tell you time and time again i love you i love you i love you, but then you continuously find out that they lie.  sure maybe they are little white lies and maybe they are even being told to spare ones feelings or keep things calm. but why, who raised these people and how hard is it to change, really? can anyone help?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11261530-112528476632175082?l=blackestass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/feeds/112528476632175082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11261530&amp;postID=112528476632175082' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/112528476632175082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/112528476632175082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/2005/08/who-knows.html' title='who knows'/><author><name>blackest ass</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05864608591684898071</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11261530.post-111008101202355642</id><published>2005-03-05T19:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-05T19:50:12.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gas</title><content type='html'>so i know the army is like the land of the vulger men, but will someone help me in my search for the answer as to why to the guy, boy, kid, next to me just let, what must have been a significant amount of gas, out of his ass, im sitting here trying, quite hard actually, to finish my profile, when i smell something rotten, apparently he doesnt seem to know that i wouldnt be required to possess many observation skills to realize that we are the only two objects in the immediate area that have the possibility of letting this oh so aouromic air come out of such orafices, so by proccess of emilimination, being raised with some manners and curtousy, and what i now consider a gift from the almighty himself, a strong anal muscle, and thanks to the ever-so-smart us army, i now know what the very personal smell of SPC Schaeuders ass is like. so now i will go back to my profile, if i can manage to keep my mouth tightly sealed and see through the dim cloud that has silently covered me in my little world of dell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11261530-111008101202355642?l=blackestass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/feeds/111008101202355642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11261530&amp;postID=111008101202355642' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/111008101202355642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/111008101202355642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/2005/03/gas.html' title='Gas'/><author><name>blackest ass</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05864608591684898071</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11261530.post-111007659535471806</id><published>2005-03-05T18:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-05T18:36:35.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>freedom</title><content type='html'>so im out, todays the day, im going on 3 hours now and i almost feel like a grown up again. thanks to my somewhat abusing but very entertaining ex-roomate the day started out great. two people meant to be together, finally realizing that buttery seasoning did have reason.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11261530-111007659535471806?l=blackestass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/feeds/111007659535471806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11261530&amp;postID=111007659535471806' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/111007659535471806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11261530/posts/default/111007659535471806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blackestass.blogspot.com/2005/03/freedom.html' title='freedom'/><author><name>blackest ass</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05864608591684898071</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
