Me.

Out of a galaxy of million-candlepower xenon searchlights in the blogosphere, she picks the neutron star in the bunch to enlighten all y'all. Of course, I wasn't exactly a moving target.

"Yup. And 'midst the threshers and makos and Great Whites, some of us are just

*ahem*

pilot fish."

And some of us are nothing more than tomorrows SOS, stuff on a shingle, just waiting to be cut up.

*sigh*

So she Ginsus me with a meme.

However, before I spill my guts through an act of electronic seppuku, I believe I'll tender my tender tormentor a peace offering -- something that will show her I understand why she expressed her repressed emotions by jerking me around with a %$#@! meme exhibiting curiosity about my mundane existence. Since her alter-ego, Princess Leia In A Sandpaper Thong Cheese Danish Bikini, has moaned

But then I have always had a weak spot for quiet, solid men.

and I damnsure ain't neither understand her need to bitchslap me cry out to me in this manner, I'll dedicate this to her as a little warmer-upper for the seriosity to follow.

And now to the main event:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog (easy enough -- not really necessary, though, since most of Villainous Company lurks here anyw -- Sly! *Not on the drapes*!).

2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird (easy enough -- everything about me is random, weird, or both).

• During my thirty-seven years in the Army, USAR and ARNG, I never had an Army Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner (I *delivered* a whole bunch, though, and dished out cranberry sauce and stuffing on several occasions).

• All my ARNG Raters recommended "Promote immediately" or "Promote Ahead of Contemporaries" in the remarks block of my OERs -- and all my promotions were delayed, on average, by three years. I kept a file drawer full of promotion packets to replace the ones Higher kept *losing*...

• I was knocked on my keister by lightning three times within the same month (June 1971) -- and got a nice letter from a two-star (not for getting hit, for what I was doing when I got hit).

• I'm a character in a book that's currently in draft (it's not about me and I made her promise she wouldn't turn me into a water-walker).

• Horses and I have an agreement: I don't drop onto their backs from overhanging tree limbs and they don't bite me on the butt and drag me off.

• I can't wear short-sleeved shirts (souvenir of Agent Orange called porphyria cutanea tarda -- the whole "bleeds through the skin" deal freaks people out, for some reason).

• I owe John a bunch of cartoons.

Hey, the requirement was that I share seven facts -- not that I share and *explain* them. Unless, of course, it'll get John posting privileges at The Corner. And ry lets HF6 read the X-Men #1 he *thinks* he hid behind the adult novelties dispenser towel rack in the oubliette.

3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
As if. This place is the Meme Graveyard.

4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
Not. A. Chance. But Argent, AFSis, ALa, Barb, Foxfier, Cricket and Michelle Malkin all dodged the bullet. Fuzzybee, HF6 and Maggie were previously victimized. And Murray would have tried to launch a rock at me (hey, we're practically neighbo(u)rs).

5. Present an image of martial discord from whatever period or situation you'd like.
That can be read on many different levels.

This is only one of them.

And *that* can be read on many levels, too...