<?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-6401083170879454282</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:18:21.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stockholm Swingers' Club</title><subtitle type='html'>Hello and welcome to the Stockholm Swingers' Club.  My name is Marc Walther.  I'm most know for the works with my band Newsense.  But here, i will primarily share stories and tales with you all about the fantasticness that is my life.  Hope you enjoy!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-2320653324531656739</id><published>2009-02-12T05:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T06:33:13.075-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Stockholm Swinger Game!</title><content type='html'>Ladies and Gentleman, the other day I had a revelation.  Although the dating/hooking up culture lifestyle is truly a game in itself; I have decided to make said game official.   This isn't my first game I have helped create.  About a year and a half ago, one of my best friends and I had a similar, but not as rewarding, game for road trips.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, I was inspired the other week when I found out some of the female co-eds here where I am studying in Sweden created a point system for a night (or hell, it might still be going on) depending on who you hooked up with.  I thought it was absolutely amazing when I found out (also amazing to find out I was used a little; but we all know that only excites me).  I later learned the basic rules to the points system and was tossing it around in my head whilst on a little walk.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was thinking of what a cool idea this was and going through the various ways they had set up to earn points.  However, this also got my pondering on variations.  In their game, the points basically are based on looks and/or if the person was in a relationship, etc.  But there's more challenges than that.  I mean, think of the different obstacles you could face in a normal night on the prowl?  I've gone through several scenarios in my mind on how to making this rating system and what not, and knowing me, I'll later think of some more to add, thus making the game more extravagant.  But as for now, let's get into... &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;The Stockholm Swinger&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt; (a game not suitable for children.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:10px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Basic Points:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1 point - hook up with a less-than-attractive person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2 points - hook up with an average looking person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3 points - hook up with a fairly attractive person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4 points - hook up with a hot person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5 points - hook up with someone who is so hot, this shouldn't have been possible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Add-Ons:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+2 points - go to second base.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+3 points - go to third base.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+5 points - if you make the sexin'.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+7 points - if some crazy sex stuff goes on (fetishes, filmed, anal, etc.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+1 point - for any more than 3 people in one night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+1 point - if you hooked up with best friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+2 points - if people you hooked up with are related.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+2 points - if you don't know their name/they don't know your name.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+3 points - if they don't speak your language.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+8 points - if you're a girl and you kiss another girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+10 points - if you're a guy and you kiss another guy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(only +5 points - if you are bisexual, either gender.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;+7 points - if you hook up with someone of the opposite gender who is homosexual. (and vice versa)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well that's all I have for now, please feel free to offer some suggestions, as I will be thinking of some on my own as well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So go out there and get playing!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-2320653324531656739?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/2320653324531656739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=2320653324531656739' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/2320653324531656739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/2320653324531656739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2009/02/stockholm-swinger-game.html' title='The Stockholm Swinger Game!'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-4687515982275046860</id><published>2009-02-10T15:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T16:24:01.875-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kicked Out</title><content type='html'>So, I can say in all honestly, i have never been been kicked out of any bar, pub, or club in my life... &lt;div&gt;...up until tonight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The worst part is, i have no reason to have been evicted from the place I was at.  To prove my point; this is the first SSC entry I have done on the same night as the story goes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So it was one of our exchange students here in Sweden friend's birthday.  Which to me means, celebrate not only at the party, but as we know at the "pre-pre-party".  So I showed up a bit "decent" to the b-day party.  This was about the time for us to ride our bikes across town to the pub/club we were going to visit.  I immediately get there and order a drink; since the bike ride had temporarily killed my buzz.  We all started dancing and having a wonderful time switching off between the dance floor downstairs and the traditional pub atmosphere of the upstairs area.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At one point of me heading downstairs again to dance the night away I go to order a drink.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apparently, I was too drunk to do so, which is just straight fucked up since I can still write this entry hours later.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So in my head I firgure "fuck it; I'll go upstairs and get a cider."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For those of you not in Europe; a cider at a bar is around 4.5% alcohol, so clearly it can't do that much damage to me.  So I figure "Why not go upstairs and fix my needs?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Someone downstairs had apparently assumed I was "too drunk and needed to be cut off", so as I order this baby-ass cider; a guard walks up and tells the bartender that I am cut-off.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To me this makes no sense.  I haven't caused any problems and am not nearly as drunk as I am the usual time I am (or my friends are) on a usual night this this place.  But as a non-confrontational individual; I agree to their decision and go downstairs to dance some more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I groove for a while and start to feel the need for another "kick" to assist me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As soon as I walk to the bar, 2 giant men confront me and ask me to "follow them to the exist."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize I am being kicked out.  I have no clue why; but as a little guy; I'm not gonna cause any problems.  I pull out my coat-check number, receive my jacket and head towards my bike.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I will admit, I am pretty drunk (not kicked out of the venue drunk; but still fairly gone), so I call my friend to ask where we parked.  I soon find my bike, admit my defeat and start traveling home.  Half way through the ride, my bike starts acting funny.  The next thing I know; the chain completely screws up, falls off its router, and I'm stuck alone in the middle of god-knows-where.  I try to fix the chain a few times then call my friend (still enjoying himself back at the bar) trying to see if I can get a verbal instruction on fixing my bike.  Which, of course, doesn't happen.  So for the last half of the 3 miles home, I'm drunk-walking my bike home praying a cop doesn't see me wobble and put me in the drunk tank.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Luckily, I made it home.  The shit that sucks is I'm here, only slightly under-the-influence, writing a story that may have been epic if I had ended up at the place of some female; but instead, it's just the upset drunk grumbling of a 21 year old in Sweden who isn't "Stockholm Swingers'"-ing it like he did back home.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The point being; clearly, if I can write this entire story without effort (for the record, spell/gammer check was unneeded) and still get ousted before a noteworthy story can be written; there is a reason I was meant to live in Las Vegas.  Hopefully, I can fulfill my reputation as the "Stockholm Swinger" ASAP; otherwise; I'm straight up fucked.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well I'm off to have a cigarette.  Hopefully you enjoyed my tale of fucking up.  I know I didn't; but that's half the point of this blog.  Right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-4687515982275046860?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/4687515982275046860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=4687515982275046860' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/4687515982275046860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/4687515982275046860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2009/02/kicked-out.html' title='Kicked Out'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-8458926128561069635</id><published>2009-01-04T23:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T00:26:18.050-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sexpranks</title><content type='html'>A lot of people have funny stories when it comes to sex, mostly cause when two people get naked, there's already a good opportunity for some laughs (among other obvious things of course). However, the difference lays in that most people do something awkward, weird, or straight-up goofy; they keep it to themselves. On the other hand, I decide to post them up on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; for people to read. Now the best thing to do afterwards is to take a situation and prank the shit out of a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in the summer, I had a lovely little debacle of an encounter which ended in extra hilarity. I was with this girl who I was spending a good deal of time with and we copulated a few times. One time, while we were at her house when her roommates were out of town, we got into the deed. She and I started watching movies on her roommate's bed and things started to heat up after a while. Now, I was being retarded by doing this, but she not being on birth control and me not having any condoms since I wasn't expecting to be banging in the middle of the day; we played the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt;' method of "pull out". When I felt I was close, I realized I didn't have a predetermined place to deposit my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mansauce&lt;/span&gt; and so I figured fuck it, I'll just cum on the bed and clean it afterwards. I let her know the time was upon us and did my shortly planned task. Apparently, this was a mistake. I finish and see a deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes that leads to one of those awkward moments where both of you are trying to think of something appropriate thing to say and coming up with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;response&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She half-stuttered out a single line; "Did you...did you just cum on my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;roommate's&lt;/span&gt; bed?!?" At this point, I realize I'm busted, so a simple sheepish "yes" seemed in order. She jumps up and starts freaking out. I'm hastily scrambling my words of justification faster than a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;greyhound&lt;/span&gt; chasing a rabbit: "I didn't think it was a problem-I can just clean it-I'm sorry-what was I supposed to do?-it all happened so fast-where was I supposed to?" etc. "Why wouldn't you just cum on me?!?!" was her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;response&lt;/span&gt;. "Because I didn't know if you were cool with that-and you didn't say to-I'm sorry" was my next word jumble. We end up deciding the best idea is to just quickly wash the sheets and get them back on the bed before her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;roommate&lt;/span&gt; got back (oh yeah, that was in a few hours). After our dilemma is solved and we were able to laugh at it, we carried on with our day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on in the car ride, she turned to me and asked a question that's more to the point than any other question in the book. "Have you ever been tested?" I answer truthfully with a "No, but every chick I've slept with has and they come up clean". Then I decide to have a bit of fun with it. "However, my Mom has HIV and when I was born she transferred it to me; but don't worry, it's not full &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;AIDS&lt;/span&gt; so it's really not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;thaaaat&lt;/span&gt; bad. I mean, I'm pretty healthy and everything."&lt;br /&gt;The color drains completely from her face which has an expression that seems to scream oh fuck, I'm going to die. She &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ligitally&lt;/span&gt; thought she had contracted one of the world's deadliest diseases. I back it up with some more reasoning and keep this little prank going for a while holding back the laugh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;smorgasbord&lt;/span&gt; that I'm about to feast on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we go a little farther I tell her I was totally joking and how could the other girls have tested clean if it was true. After getting a few straight hard-as-hell punches (which is very unsafe to do to a person driving), she yelled at me for being a total prick and then was quiet for the rest of the drive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, she thought it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;kiiinnnnd&lt;/span&gt; of funny and we shared our laughs about the day filled with cum and foolishness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-8458926128561069635?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/8458926128561069635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=8458926128561069635' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/8458926128561069635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/8458926128561069635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2009/01/sexpranks.html' title='Sexpranks'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-4789252549379958348</id><published>2008-08-27T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T20:10:18.407-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Myspace Girl: The Internet Strikes Back!</title><content type='html'>Towards the beginning of this summer, I once again ran into a fun encounter based off of some young lady I met through the internet; more specifically through the ever popular website myspace, hence the reason she got the name "Myspace Girl".  I've decided though, if I'm going to have another internet-based story, there's gonna have to be some magic to happen to have me write on it seeing I don't like repeating topics.  But as we'll see with this story, it was worth another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     The start of this tale is very similar to the previous &lt;a href="http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/03/magic-of-internet.html"&gt;Internet Story&lt;/a&gt; in the 'Club.  I was on &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/newsense"&gt;Newsense's myspace &lt;/a&gt;page, adding the new friends galore and received a message from a young lady.  She said she was new to town and looking for some friends to hang out with.  I, being the natural gentleman and great host of my city, replied that that would be an excellent idea and I would let her know the next the the chaps and I throw a little shin-dig.   This led to me adding her on my personal profile and us talking occasionally on the 'space and exchanging numbers.  Well for those of you who don't know me well; I tend to have this problem with drunk texting in that I do it a lot and invite people over all the time.  So about a week later, I had one of these infamous drunken texting spurts and hit up Myspace Girl.  She responded and asked if her friend and her could come over and hang out.  "Of course" I replied before finding out that I would also have to go pick them up a few blocks down the road.  Now luckily, I wasn't thaaaaat drunk yet, but regardless kids, don't follow and example and even occasionally drink and drive; actually, realistically, you shouldn't probably ever follow my example.  Regardless, I got in the car and drove on over, hoping they wouldn't be a total waste of my time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I arrived at their neighborhood around 10:00 PM and was glad to see they weren't ogres.  We talked and since I was already loosened up, the awkwardness of the situation was gone and we all got along right away.  We got on to the topic of drinking and this led to if we did any drugs or anything too.  Now I don't consider myself to be a drug person in any real sense of the form, but have tried a little for the sake of what the big fuss is about, and hence why I still just really stick with alcohol.  But talk of pills came up and we decided we would all do one before joining the rest of the party when we got back to my place.  (Once again, don't follow my example, pills are extremely dangerous and bad; in fact, just sit back and read to see why.)  So we walk inside and go to my room immediately.  Everyone outside playing beer pong so this and assumed we were having some sort of crazy threesome, which unfortunately was not the case.  Instead, we came back out about 10 minutes later with a change in head.  As we joined the party, everyone was confused why these two new chicks were over, which was defiantly a justified thought.  As there rarely is though, no problems occurred and everyone got along fairly well, some more so than others.   In fact, at one point while Myspace Girl and I were out front having a smoke, her friend and my friend had decided to go swimming leading to her getting naked.  It was a fairly short swim though since the girls decided to leave. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Pushing midnight, the girls said they wanted to go home since they had to be up in the morning.  Good thing I had a few more drinks right?  So I drive them home and we all chill on the friend's back porch and talk for a bit.  The friend went to bed and Myspace Girl gets the idea to go swimming as well.  Before I give a definite answer, she is naked and getting in the water.  So I remove my clothes down to the boxers and hop in.  No more than a few minutes later, we begin making out and quickly giving clues that this will be advancing soon.  Just before we play the infamous game of "just the tip", I remember that I don't exactly know this chick and stop us so I can go grab a condom.  Quicker than a racehorse at Del Mar, I'm back in the water wrapped up and ready to go.  So we start doing the nasty in her friend's pool and are going for a few minutes before one of the funniest things that could happen does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Now I'm not sure what was the cause; whether it was the alcohol, the pills, the temperature jump from warm pool water-to cool air-to warm water, the fact I'm not a huge fan of water sex, some random cause, or a combination of any and all of these; about 5 minutes into the session, my penis completely stops working.  There wasn't even a like "cool down" stage.  It just died, rendering it completely useless.  I tell her that I'm deeply sorry and I was just tired as balls, quite literally.  She said it was fine and it was probably just from the pills seeing she had heard of that happening to her friends before.  So we got out of the water and air dried off before I got dressed and ready to head home.  We had a few good night kisses and I headed out the door and into my intense laughter over what had all just happened.  I had just met a chick through the internet (again) and this time, slept with her in about two hours of her knowing I'm an actual person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    So there you have it.  One of the most complete stories to date.  It's got a little bit of everything, and a lot of random and hilarious moments.  From triumphs to debacles, that's what the Stockholm Swingers' Club is all about!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-4789252549379958348?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/4789252549379958348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=4789252549379958348' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/4789252549379958348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/4789252549379958348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/08/myspace-girl-internet-strikes-back.html' title='Myspace Girl: The Internet Strikes Back!'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-743750064116322172</id><published>2008-08-13T14:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T14:42:19.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fornicator On The Roof</title><content type='html'>Well call me Barbara Streisand because a few months ago I had quite the little Clause-esque adventure. So at one of the usual party nights at my house I was chatting with a good friend of mine who I used to share carnal relations with. In this occasion, we were walking around my back yard talking when we noticed that the ladder was up on the side of my house. She said "let's go on the roof" which we did and we walked around up there looking around for a bit and I felt like being witty and showing her where "my room" was in roof form. A couple of my guy friends climbed up at that point wondering where we had gone. So we all went down and back inside to go partake in a bit more drinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, after a few of the guest had gone out to get some food, she and I wound up outside where we were just chilling again when she turned to me once we passed the ladder again and stated how we should go back up onto the roof. I being drunkenly innocent at the time agreed not thinking of anything. So we climbed up and walked towards the area above my room and after a little bit of chit-chatting we began making out. This of course usually leads to more heavy making out, followed by a running through the bases. Shortly after we're pressed against the air conditioning vent and starting to remove our bottom-half attire adding a cool breeze swirling about our genitalia. We pause for a second when we look over and see the car of boys coming back and heading inside. Realizing we still weren't spotted, we continued and were soon going at. We started in a sort of standing missionary position before switching into the standing doggy style. We continued going at it for quite some time, while I kept looking out to my right to see the entire Las Vegas Strip and really half of the town which, take it from me, is quite exciting to see during an outdoor sexcapade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, the guys come back out because they were all heading out to the strip club. While I see them walking to the car, I kind of give a slight wave goodbye, even though I knew we couldn't be seen in the dark night sky. I don't know whether it was because of the gusty conditions or more likely, the amount of alcohol I had consumed, but there was no way of me finishing. So after a good amount of time up on the rooftop, we called it quits mostly just from being tired. And to think, just when I thought there wasn't any places at home where I hadn't had sex, a whole new dimension is added, up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, I will definitely recommend the rooftop sex experience, it's quite enjoyable to be able to look out on the city around you while feeling a nice springtime breeze.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-743750064116322172?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/743750064116322172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=743750064116322172' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/743750064116322172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/743750064116322172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/05/fornicator-on-roof.html' title='Fornicator On The Roof'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-1349289943452182163</id><published>2008-04-25T14:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T15:22:13.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work-Over.</title><content type='html'>I'm sure anyone who fancies alcohol has gone to work hungover, but in this next tale I will tell you all a story. No, in this story, our usual hero is not so proud, but we all had a good laugh, and even if that means my life is only being utilized as a form of comedy, then so be it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This story takes place during the fall 2007 semester of my sophomore year at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;UNLV&lt;/span&gt;. It was the week before finals and I had officially been getting the ball rolling on my alcoholic binge that lasted 3 months. As in, i wasn't sober for 3 months. Damn, i rule. Anyways, this was about a month after turning 20 (the end of the infamous Beard Month) and so each weekend complied of me trying to drown my liver. I have for quite some time now worked an early shift on Saturdays at work because it is the easiest day to work and so it usually wouldn't matter if I partied the night before. Unfortunately, this week I had taken that as "hey, I can get completely shit-housed, fall asleep and go to work without &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;reprimands&lt;/span&gt;!" Little did I know the fun I would be having.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I arrive to work wasted. Not hungover yet, still wasted drunk. My good &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;friend&lt;/span&gt; Scoundrel (whom has been in previous stories) was also hungover, adding to the spectacle any customer may have seen. Here we are, cuddled in our little corners at the front desk of a pool, half dead, and would've been crying if it didn't hurt to move. I figure I must be starving (seeing I had vomited a lot the night before) so I creep on over to the vending machines to go buy a pack of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Starburst&lt;/span&gt; and a Sprite (breakfast of champs) to settle my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;stomach&lt;/span&gt;. On the return trip, I can tell something isn't right. I set down my treats and briskly walk into the men's room. I get into the closest stall just in time to paint the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;porcelain&lt;/span&gt; colors not yet known to man. It was fierce; the flying out my mouth, that stinging feeling in your throat, even some shooting out my nose. After a couple minutes, I clean myself up and head back to the desk. Scoundrel looks up at me and asks "where did you go?" I reply, "i just threw up my life, I feel about a million times better now." To which &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Scoundy&lt;/span&gt; replies "good idea" and heads off to have his own fiesta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this became kinda of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;routine&lt;/span&gt; deal for a couple more hours- taking turns vomiting, feeling better, drinking some soda or eating some candy, feeling sick, etc., etc. But then once we both had come around a bit, we decided to get our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;weekly&lt;/span&gt; fix of Little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Ceaser's&lt;/span&gt; $5 pizza and $1 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;bread sticks&lt;/span&gt;. It's a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;phenomenal&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;experience&lt;/span&gt;. As we're sitting there eating, we both feel top notch. The sun came out, birds were singing, cartoon foxes &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;pranced&lt;/span&gt; along playing banjos; all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;accoutrement&lt;/span&gt; needed for a Saturday afternoon. We hop on the i&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;nternet&lt;/span&gt; some more, play a few games, chat to kids on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;myspace&lt;/span&gt;. But then suddenly, I got thirsty. I get up and walk to the water fountain and am coming back to the desk when something doesn't feel right. I think to myself, "dammit Marc, it's been like 3 hours since you last puked you're fine, don't be a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;pussie&lt;/span&gt;." So I hop in my chair and talk to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Scoundy&lt;/span&gt;. He grabs the last slice of pizza and begins eating it and starting a conversation. I try to pay attention, but all I keep thinking is "don't puke, don't puke". About halfway through the slice and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;convo&lt;/span&gt;, I hold up my hand and say "hold on" and lean over the front desk trashcan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An atom bomb of partially digest pizza and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;bread sticks&lt;/span&gt; drops from me, followed by two purely liquid explosions. All over that trashcan is my insides. Scoundrel looks at his pizza and tosses it in with the bucket-o-vomit. We look up at each other and my watery eyes meet his as we assess what just occurred. He starts cracking up to my face and I quickly join between gasps of breath and me saying "I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;soooo&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt;, I hope no one saw me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After cleaning up the workstation and myself, I was pretty much recovered by the end of the work shift. Which was nice since I had to head down to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;UNLV&lt;/span&gt; that night to take my Spanish final in a warm, amazon rain forest-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;esque&lt;/span&gt; room. Luckily, I held down any sick feelings after that, and still did great on the test. As they say though, "the pesky gerbil may play in his pen, but the brash &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;squirrel&lt;/span&gt; can still bury his loot."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-1349289943452182163?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/1349289943452182163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=1349289943452182163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/1349289943452182163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/1349289943452182163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/04/work-over.html' title='Work-Over.'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-1656967877335745604</id><published>2008-03-15T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T12:30:42.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Magic Of The Internet.</title><content type='html'>This tale is about the glories that is the internet, and why I try to utilize it as much as possible. So I met this girl on myspace who added me, if i recall she found me through Newsense. We began talking and got along nicely. We were both in relationships when we met, but after those ended, we decided to meet and hang out. The first time it I knew it was going to be a bit wierd and so I had my good friend "Scoundrel" tag along. After the night was over, Scoundrel and I went back to my place and lied to the girl that we would go to her house later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     She and I didn't lose contact though and we hung out a couple more times. By the second time we hooked up as I was leaving, it was cheesy and steriotypical, but none the less fun. The same goes for the third time we hung out. But the real fun happened after we hadn't hung out for a while and met up again for our fourth encounter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Seeing half the time we had hung out, we were either watching a movie or making out, the after-movie expieriance this time was that much more great. So we're chilling in my car thinking of things to do when she drops the line "the back seat looks intriguing," I agree and we drive for a place to get down to business. We finally find what appears to be a closed road in a quiet neighborhood with no potential for interruption. (it ended up not being true and we high tailed out of there after this adventure).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     So we begin making out, a lot. A skill I pride myself of having. Some people who I'm pretty sure I can only describe as whores have agreed that I am awesome. Anyways, so this continues, clothes get removed more and more, hands go places that are considered unholy, and then your at second base my friends. So after a while of this fun and games, she begins to remove my pants completely and is expressing interest in performing oral sex. Of course, being a stimulated male, it would be foolish, and very homosexual, to say no. So right before she does, she gets a call from her Dad asking when she'll be home. If memory serves me right she said we had just gotten out of the movie and were going to grab some ice cream or something (foreshadow). She ends the conversation, but I'm destimulated. After a few more minutes of making out, I'm ready to go again. So she starts slobbin'. And I might add, she is extremely good at it. Potentially the best one yet to this day. But I mean, for as little as I know her, she may have had a lot of "practice". Fuck it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I usually pride myself on not finishing during oral sex, especially if im in a car. However, as I mentioned, she was just shy of pornstar good and I hadn't cum in a few days, so my penis enjoyed the attention. Me, being a gentleman, let her know I'm going to finish soon, wondering if I'm gonna have to use my boxers as a cum rag or something. But she just carried on as if I hadn't said a word. So I blow my load in her mouth and ask if she would like me to open the door so she could spit out the "tastey concoction". Then clear as a bell she replies "What?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I just chuckled to myself, realizing this girl knows the bare-bones minimum about me and said "thank you internet."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-1656967877335745604?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/1656967877335745604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=1656967877335745604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/1656967877335745604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/1656967877335745604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/03/magic-of-internet.html' title='The Magic Of The Internet.'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-9197482241937142420</id><published>2008-03-02T13:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T15:04:39.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Studio Sex</title><content type='html'>A while back I had a girlfriend who I went out with for a long time and we had our good and definitely bad times throughout. Anyways, after we broke up, I still tried to remain friends with her, as I do with any of my ex's. The problem was, when the relationship ended, she wasn't ready for that and the friend thing got weird a lot of times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably one of our stronger connections was through music. We were both singers and liked many of the same bands. So a couple times we had written/performed songs together and they turned out pretty good. A few months after getting out of the relationship, I decided we should co-write and record a song together for a &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/thewishful"&gt;solo venture &lt;/a&gt;I was doing. She came over, and we hung out and started working on the song down in &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/happikeys"&gt;my studio &lt;/a&gt;and I thought it shaped out nicely. We finished it and were going to listen back to it to see if anything needed fixing. The IKEA couch I have down there also folds out to a futon type deal and she suggests we lie down and listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While laying there she starts moving closer to me. I didn't think anything of it really and just continued listening. Next thing I know, this girl starts removing some clothing, at first I think it has something to do with the fact there isn't a good air conditioner down there, but then it became pretty clear what was going on. We start kissing and removing more clothing until we're both naked. Oh yeah, she had a new boyfriend at the time, but apparently they were on a break (because I do not believe in nor condone cheating of anykind). After this continues to go on for a bit, she starts hinting that we should have sex. Personally, I wasn't down because this would kind of be like leading her on and I think that's wrong but in the heat of the moment, I wasn't about to say no. So we go with the flow and end up fucking. Starting of in missionary, then moving to doggiestyle all while listening to the happy little love song we had written.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we finish, there was probably some of the most awkward after-sex expieriance. Me, being a professional, go back to fixing the song and putting it on a CD. She got a little upset about this lack of attention, but hey, she said we should just "blow off some steam". After this, she and her boyfriend got back together and he wanted to fight me a lot for a while, but I think we smoothed it all over, and they are happy from what I know. Which is good. She probably hates me these days because I was kind of a dick after we broke up, so now after this goes online, she'll hate me even more. But hey, there's a good song and story now out of it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-9197482241937142420?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/9197482241937142420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=9197482241937142420' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/9197482241937142420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/9197482241937142420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/03/studio-sex.html' title='Studio Sex'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6401083170879454282.post-5557183308587969515</id><published>2008-02-27T23:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T15:08:28.865-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello</title><content type='html'>Hi everyone, in this blog expect many a drunken tale, sexual triumph (or dibocal), random stories, many random thoughts, and sayings to live by. I don't have time for a full story right now and i just felt like saying "hello". So ill leave you with a little qoute of mine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Though the obseqious badger may skurry over many a field in his life, the illustrious barn-swallow does not querry over lost sunlight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Marc&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6401083170879454282-5557183308587969515?l=stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/feeds/5557183308587969515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6401083170879454282&amp;postID=5557183308587969515' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/5557183308587969515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6401083170879454282/posts/default/5557183308587969515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stockholmswingersclub.blogspot.com/2008/02/hello.html' title='Hello'/><author><name>marcthenewsense</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17771345083323018493</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_hK6HR5agnfg/R8Zg6tAaWXI/AAAAAAAAAAY/78ziyIJniy8/S220/l_c789e5560ee463e2bbb79c7535ef7cdf.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
