Why The Brown Mountain Lights Hate Me
I’ve never actually seen the Brown Mountain Lights. For those of you who don’t know, The Brown Mountain Lights are these “alleged” lights in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I could explain more about the background and supposed causes of these lights, but you’re adults and can read and I’m not here to give the Brown Mountain Lights any more free advertising than they’re already getting.
Anyway, apparently the Brown Mountain Lights hate me. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. I have spent countless hours sitting in parked cars, lounging on picnic tables at mosquito-infested overlooks, and leaning against metal guardrails in sub-zero temperatures all for nothing. I’ve poured my heart and a decent part of my cold, black soul into seeing this elusive and mysterious phenomena, but the Brown Mountain Lights have been total dicks about it. They haven’t even had the decency to meet me halfway on anything. Seriously, they haven’t showed up for anything at all!
And I’ve totally gone above and beyond on my end. There was the time I initiated a hard-target search of the area by sort of giving state and local authorities the impression that I lost my six-year-old nephew. Now, in retrospect, I was in the wrong to lie and say my he was my nephew when he was really my cousin. And I can honestly say I didn’t know exactly where he was, so assuming he may be lost in the particular nine square mile area where the Brown Mountain Lights have been most reported wasn’t technically incorrect, regardless of what the news media would have you believe. And get a load of this! This is how shitty the Brown Mountain Lights are. Over 350 people, including lots of highly-trained search and rescue personnel, scoured the landscape day and night (very important) for almost eleven weeks and not a single one of those 350 people saw a single one of the Brown Mountain Lights!
Then there was the time I
stole borrowed that helicopter to do aerial surveillance and ended up crashing strategically landing it in the banquet room of a Cheeseburger in Paradise. Some people say that was the reason that particular Cheeseburger in Paradise closed. But I heard from a stoner who lived in his van a reliable source that the restaurant closed because they had a big roach problem. I mean, they had a big problem with roaches. I can imagine a big roach problem would maybe be a draw for certain restaurants. Sort of like the big cockroach in Beetlejuice. Or I guess that was more of a beetle. Anyway, point being, a Bell 47 helicopter smashed through gently lodged in the banquet room wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back of that restaurant. In fact, that was probably the most media coverage that restaurant had gotten since it opened. So you’re welcome, Jimmy Buffet.
Now I realize that this might be an it’s-not-you-it’s-me situation. And I would be cool with that if only the Brown Mountain Lights would be stand up enough to tell me that to my face. Instead, I think the Brown Mountain Lights have been actively avoiding me. And don’t get me wrong. Some of my tactics for trying to spot the Brown Mountain Lights have been less than
legal preferable admirable. Sure, burning down 40 square acres of forest was initially (and I’m sure continually by some) frowned upon by the U.S. Forestry Service and other law enforcement agencies. But love makes people do crazy things, am I right?
♠ The title for this essay is courtesy of Ernie Cooper. If you have an essay title you’d like to suggest, email it to BatDocBlog@gmail.com. You might see your essay title in one of my books, and I’ll be sure to thank you in the book for it!
Posted on July 21, 2014, in A BatDoc Original, Original Series, Short Essays and tagged 47, batdoc, beetlejuice, bell, blog, blue, brown, buffet, carolina, comedy, cooper, cousin, doc, elusive, ernie, essay, explanation, forestry, funny, hate, helicopter, humor, jimmy, laugh, lights, me, mountain, mountains, nephew, north, original, paranormal, phenomena, ridge, series, service, short, the, u.s., why. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.