The Waitress From Hell.

I've met the Waitress from Hell
She has a face like a dog and a head like a bell
I'll admit she has a great looking ass
But I never even thought to think about Class.
Big Brother said something I liked
When he did my curiosity spiked
He said she looked good all over the place
"Good everywhere, that is, But her face"
That's when the light bulb became very bright
Her new nickname to me, seemed so right.
Leland solved the problem of this particular case
And we now refer to her as Old Butterface.

Addressing the most recent attack on my person.

Y'all hold on for a bit and I promise to tell you a story about this recent verbal attack on my family. Apparently, my attacker hasn't done much homework on the Butler Family and what happens to those who attack us. I did some writing earlier today but decided that I need to calm down a bit more before I put it on the blog. Too much cussin' on my part. Be advised, as Dupe says: 'I didn't go to jail and I wasn't even arrested". This ain't over yet, the games are just about to begin. Congratulations to me cause I'm gonna win.

Thanks to the Fighter Pilots

I recently read an article that referred to the Thanksgiving holiday we spent in 1970 when we were in Vietnam. Most of my friends at that time were helicopter pilots. We were flying the UH 1 Huey , the OH 6 Loach and the AH 1 Cobra.

November and December of 1970 was a very tough time for us. I almost bought the farm in November in a hot LZ near Xuan Loc. Not long after that, in December, Lt. Dan Coombs and Specialist Joe Blickenstaff were killed in action while flying the OH 6, the same aircraft type that I was flying at the time.

Thanksgiving has always been a time for being thankful for my family. Back then we were simply wondering if we would have turkey on that day. As it turned out, I only remember having shrimp in a Styrofoam cup and being very happy about that. We were always on call to respond to any attack at any time and Thanksgiving didn't mean anything to the NVA or the Viet Cong. Despite that, I don't recall flying on that day.

In any event, as I think about those times I think that I'm way overdue in thanking the fighter pilots of the USAF and the USN for keeping the skies clear of enemy fighters.

The anti aircraft fire was bad enough. There were many of us who were shot to pieces by small arms fire. The lucky ones like me, ended up flying our helicopters back to base even though it looked like Swiss cheese when we landed. Bullet holes everywhere. There were others that made it back to base but didn't return in the same helicopter they left in. Those were so badly shot up it was a miracle that they weren't killed in the crash.

There were others who survived but never made it back to base because they were so badly burned they had to be medically evacuated to Japan and then to the burn center in Denver. Others were hit but survived their bullet wounds and were also evacuated back to the United States. Some of those (Ted) still suffer from those wounds today.

There was only one circumstance where I was involved in air to air combat. That happened at the Chup Rubber Plantation in Cambodia when a VNAF (South Vietnamese Air Force) pilot was strafing civilians in a field near the Chup. I was ordered to shoot him down but he spoke English, heard the order and as I was making a right hand turn to bring my mini gun sights to his cockpit, he bugged out and flew back to Vietnam. I may be the only pilot in Vietnam that was ever ordered to shoot down a fighter bomber that was supposed to be on our side.

With the luxury afforded us by time, I think the only way we could have survived air attacks by the North Vietnamese would have been through tactics that allowed us to split our formations and attack by concentrating our mini guns on him as he dove in to attack. Many of them carried heat seeking missiles and machine gun fire from Migs weren't typical.

Regardless of how you look at it, I never saw a single Mig roll in to shoot me down and I am ever thankful to the many fighter pilots that made that happen. Thanks to all you fast movers.

Amnesty, 180 degrees off course.

I've had all of this talk about amnesty that I can take.

I recently watched a documentary on the Military Channel that turned on the light bulb for me. It was titled: "When Hitler Invaded America". Talk about illegal immigration! That was pretty clear.

I'm not against immigration but I am totally against uncontrolled immigration. On second thought, I'm getting closer to a position that totally eliminates all immigration. Even hotels put out signs that say "Full" or "No Vacancy". 

I think the recent murders committed by a guy that had already been deported twice, pretty much makes my case. Not all of them are murderers but that isn't the question. The real question is: "Which ones are murderers".

Through the years, I've been asked my opinion about a number of difficult situations. Often times, my answer to questions that were extremely difficult to solve, was "don't do anything right now".  I always suggest that "time" is needed to make an intellectual decision especially for things that involve emotional situations.

I don't think illegal immigration should be considered as an emotional situation. Freedom is still there but trying to reach this Country has a methodology to it and to side step those procedures is illegal. Pretty simple. If the cop killer had been stopped at the border, the murders would never have taken place.

Now comes the question of "What if?". After that, we should find a follow up question that asks "When do we the people start"?

"What if" a very small percentage of illegal immigrants are murderers? We already know the answer to that but we certainly don't see that being talked about as much as it should be.

What if nothing changes and the flood of illegals continues to flow across the border? That's when the "When do we start" part of the equation begins.

The guy in Texas whose family member was killed had an answer that I liked a lot. He decided that he would put up signs and simply shoot those that came onto his property. After having a family member killed, I doubt that a jury of his peers would convict him of anything if he shot and killed the perps.

It's not just a few that are causing the problems. There are so many, we're actually spending 3 times more tax payer dollars taking care of them than we spend on Veterans that have been hurt defending our freedoms. What the hell is that all about and who in God's name set up that deal?

Lila Parton, a Lokota Indian face book friend that I connect with through the 11th Armored Cav, would probably have a few choice words to say about immigration.

I understand that the Japanese don't allow any immigration among certain barbarian groups that we aren't allowed to name without fear of offending them. It seems to me that if you deported all of the immigrant population that belongs to that group of murderers and Infidel haters, we wouldn't have any immigrant problem at all.

In any event, I'm pretty tired of all this crap. My cousin Mike sent a video of some idiot waving an ISIS flag at Berkley. I say that the best solution to the problem at Berkley is to shut it down and make it a homeless shelter for homeless Veterans.

Further to that, buy them a plane ticket instead of buying plane tickets for the family members of illegal aliens to come here so they can join their illegal families.

Ugh, it's hopeless. It's going to take a knock down drag out fight to stop this. History pretty much proves that. Make sure that your powder is dry. The fecal matter is getting closer and closer to the oscillating device.

Let's Blame This On Neil Young, "Almost Cut My Hair" and other protest songs.

Roger says that some people at the hospital would consider me to be a "Study Aholic". It wasn't a negative comment. It was a compliment that was made in appreciation for me giving him the source documents I used to dig up all the facts I uncovered through my studies of the Vietnam War.

I will be the first one to admit that I tore up the 93rd Congress and their method of undoing the Paris Peace Accords. I did that because they deserved it. I raised more hell about Jane Fonda, the SDS and all the protest marches but anyway you look at it, you have to call a spade a spade and I don't think that I've made any statements that I couldn't back up with dates, bills and the guilty parties.

Some people argue with their hearts but I try to debate things by demonstrating my position to be true. I'm not being hard headed but I will admit that I'm most anxious to hear any comment countering my position so I can open up the documents that I use to make my conclusions. It has been somewhat frustrating as there are so many out there that simply don't get it or understand. It cost me a friendship in the 80s but it didn't cost me my standards and that's a good thing.

Recently, Mike Rose came to town and we had a long talk about standards. I was trying to grow a pony tail and look like the warrior that Mel Gibson was in Brave Heart and The Patriot. My plan included buying some of that paint to put on my face so I could look like a crazy man when ISIS comes to town.

From that standpoint, it was well intended. From a standpoint of "Right Now" it was butt ugly and driving me crazy. I gave up on that, went to the barber shop and got a buzz cut. I went to Google, plugged into a lot of protest songs like "Almost Cut My Hair" and many others like the Animals "We Gotta Get Outta This Place" and John Fogerty's "Run Through The Jungle". I like the part where  he said "The Devil's On The Loose".

Even though I changed direction from looking like a mad man to being a mad man with a starched shirt and a buzz cut, I concluded that my standards stayed in tact and I would blend in better the way I've always been instead of looking like a crazy hippy. The more I thought about it, the more I liked being me. Despite my failure to accomplish my goal the way I initially thought I should, I realized that I had to think out of the box and find another path to do something about all of the things that are so screwed up today.

Even though we don't have protest songs like we used to, I still think that we should have large protest marches against unchecked immigration and the political correctness that prevents us from calling a spade a spade when it comes to these rag heads. With the recent results from the voting booths I think that America is pretty sick of it too.

For those of you that have kept up with some of the things I've written and some of the videos Steve Dupuy produced on Vimeo where I slammed the guilty parties, I've been thinking about asking him to produce another video of a protest song with me playing the guitar and singing about my thoughts. Tim Jr wrote the music years ago but don't know how to use words like "assholes" and "baby killers"
without getting into trouble. I'll work on that and maybe I can come up with something humorous like Ray Stevens used to write.

Friday is cleaning day and I have to get ready for Marilyn's arrival so I gotta go. Just needed to make a point about maintaining a standard while changing directions to achieve a goal. See y'all later. tb

Surprise Birthday Party and the Naked Voodoo Doll.

November 4th is actually my birthday but Blame it on Bob was neck deep in this deception and somehow or another, even after I WAS THE ONE that picked the restaurant, it turned out to be a surprise birthday party.

I didn't have a clue, not even the foggiest idea that it was going to unfold the way it did. I saw Joey's truck in the parking lot but that didn't ring a bell because we eat with him as much as possible. He's a crew member on a hot air balloon team and has been gone for a month so I was glad to see he was going to join us.

When Melissa and I were walking in the door I heard the beginning of a Happy Birthday To You rendition coming from the southwest corner of El Compadre's dinning room. That's when I saw the table full of my crew from the Dixie Garden days. The crowd of patrons began to clap and cheer and I responded loudly with "It's NOT my birthday". That didn't work and I figured that everybody knew I had been busted.

Joey was at the head of the table sitting next to Blame it on Bob's wife Lila. She's a certified fox and probably sat there to make sure she wouldn't get hit during the food fight that she thought would come. Wayne and Danita Woodruff, my former next door neighbors were there as was Sue Allender, my neighbor on the other side of the house. I should have smelled a rat when I noticed that her husband John was missing but I didn't.

When Melissa and I sat down, birthday cards starting to surface from everybody and one of them had a naked man running across the front of it with a caption that said: "Remember, what happens on your birthday has a good chance of showing up on face book tomorrow". That's when the Voodoo Doll showed up.

They said that John Allender was the culprit behind that but you have to remember, when you are in the company of Blame it on Bob, the assumption that he's behind everything, is the norm. I didn't know it then but I eventually found out that Melissa was talking to Bob while she and I were riding in the car earlier that day and they were speaking in code. He would ask some question about time and she would answer with "Yes, I have six of them". Code talkin' from my own girl.

As it turned out, Sue told us that John bought it down south somewhere and he was in Lafayette working the horse race track. He's the Equine Vet there.

They began to explain how the Voodoo doll worked but when they mentioned Lafayette, I told them a story about a Voodoo practitioner that used to spray bleach all over the rock crusher when he came to work at the crushing plant I had built there during the 80s. He told us that it insured that the evil spirits would not bother him if that was done on a daily basis.

Sue began to explain that she made the costume that the Voodoo doll was wearing and when she did, she said that the doll was naked when she got it from John. That was all I needed as some of the patrons near us were watching everything that was going on and in a loud voice I said: "This woman plays with naked Voodoo dolls".

She explained that the white pins were for good things and the black pins were for bad things. I pulled out the black pin and shoved it up the Voodoo doll's ass and began chanting Nancy Pelosi, Diane Slimestein and a few other choice individuals that needed a needle in the ass. Lila, Wayne and Danita were laughing but Sue began to have that look on her face that said: "Oh my God, what have we done'.

I decided to move the pin from the back to the front and stuck one in the Voodoo Doll's tits. I kept the girl's name secret but mentioned that I knew her 40 years ago and she deserved a flat boob. Next, when we ran out of chips and salsa, I started waving the Voodoo doll at the waiters. I think they were scared to come over. Most of them were Mexican and therefore Catholic, and they appeared to be a bit hesitant to come to our table. I just decided to Blame it on Bob and I put it away. Bob and I already talked about making a life size one and he advised that they sold them at Fredrick's of Hollywood. I decided to postpone that discussion until later as I have a couple of places picked out where I would love to stick one in the front yard.

In any event, it was an absolute blast that took me completely by surprise. Thanks to all that took part in it. 

 

Are You Ready?

I watched Pearl Harbor last night, the one with Ben Afleck in the leading role. As my surround sound system filled with the sounds of the machine gun fire, I thought back to the time I was flying Nighthawks with Wollman and the 199th. It occurred to me that even though we were ordering the crew members to open fire and "Light Em Up", I never personally pulled the trigger a single time from May to September of 1970. After my baptism of fire and many combat missions after that, I knew I could do it. After a gruesome scene at a fire support base near Phan Thiet, I knew I wanted to do it.

When I transferred to the Air Cav Troop of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment and became the Nighthawk Standardization pilot for them, I eventually ended up being very tired of flying at night so I asked for and was given permission to attend a "Transition Course" that taught me to fly the Hughes 500 C or, as the Army referred to it, the OH 6.

Upon completion of that course and the "Scouting Course" that followed it, the one that taught me how to track the enemy from hovering over their trails, I was certified as a "Loach Pilot" on Hunter Killer teams and became the "Low Bird" that flew over the trees and followed the trails of the VC and NVA while the AH 1 Cobras flew over us providing gunship support when we started to take fire.

During those courses, I had one more to master and that was the gunnery course that taught us to use the mini gun. It had so much torque from the 2,000 to 4,000 round rate of fire, it would literally turn the nose of the helicopter to the left and force you to use the anti torque pedals to adjust your aim. It never was as simple as putting the target in the cross hairs of the sight reticle and pulling the trigger. It definitely was something that you had to master.

In any event, I never really got to use it until we made it to Cambodia. The first time that opportunity presented itself, I was quite shocked to pull the trigger and have nothing happen. The NVA shot up our helicopter and took out the mini gun with a lucky hit. Neither Bustin nor I were wounded but the ship had lots of bullet holes in it from the skids all the way to the top of the dog house.

As good luck would have it, we made it to a South Vietnamese Firebase, located across the road from where we where shot. I didn't even shit the engine down. I fractioned down the controls and got out of the helicopter to see if the fuel cell was hit. I lived in the same hootch as a pilot that was hit in the fuel cell and Bert told us to always try to make it to a relatively safe area to see if any of the bullet holes were leaking fuel.

As I was making that inspection, an RPG round hit very close to me and the shrapnel barely missed my head. Yellow smoke was everywhere and the RPG landed so close to me it put dirt down the back of my flight shirt. It put a nice, long shrapnel wound on the tail boom about 12" above my head. As things turned out, I hit the ground in the supine position, pulled out my 38 caliber pistol and ended up returning fire. My first time pulling the trigger, on an ememy I could see, was with a pistol. Not much John Wayne bidness going on there. It was definitely one of those "holy shit" moments in combat and I didn't have time to do anything else but react.

The moral of this story is simple. It's one thing to watch a movie and visualize yourself shooting at the ememy but it's another thing to have actually done it. It stays with us and we think about it every day of our lives. Politicians and the news media have totally screwed up that scenario. Slimestein says that Veterans are mentally ill, I say we have vivid memories of our time in combat. Pelosi is another matter. In any event, I would chose me over them anytime.

The liberal news media isn't going to go away or fix the inaccuracies surrounding the mental condition of veterans. They had the power to undo a lot of these injustices but never did a thing. A lot of the trashy punks that spit on Vietnam veterans when they returned home are still alive and, as I see it, they haven't changed either. They're just older now but well seasoned in their chicken shit-ness.

When it gets down to it, and it eventually will, we are going to wake up to the news that there's been another beheading or another problem of some sort from these new generation foreigners coming across the border now. I don't understand how the "worship center", where the be-header was radicalized, is still standing.

In any event, when the time comes, many civilians will throw out the ideas they have about veterans and many more will be the first ones to seek out a combat veteran and ask for help. I saw this happen to "Annie" who used to raise hell about all the stories I told about combat. She said I was still fighting the war in my head.

When the gangstas from New Orleans arrived in Shreveport after Katrina drove them out, they came down our street, yelling at the neighbors and terrorizing the little kids. This happened after they did a car jacking at the hospital near Dixie Garden, a murder in Minden and two pharmacy robberies. It was only two doors down from Blame it on Bob's house.

I grabbed my 22 rifle, walked down the drive way to the street and when they came by screaming at Gracie, Debbie's little girl, I screamed F**k You N word" as loud as I could and they hauled it out of sight and didn't return.

Uncle Charlie (rip) saw it and heard it all. He looked at me and yelled: "Timmy, I like your style". Everybody in the neighborhood saw it and they knew that I wasn't afraid. They didn't have an RPG and I could shoot a Ruger 10-22 with a scope on it a lot better than I could a 38 caliber pistol at a time when two NVA guys were shooting an RPG at me. I regret not shooting their tires out but figured it was okay that all it took was the look of a crazy man with a rifle screaming at them as they drove by.

Are you guys ready? I am and I'm experienced enough to know not to take the first shot. I'm not saying that the end is near but I am saying that the beginning has already begun. I feel like I need to go to Texas where my friends with big guns live.