As I drove up the winding road to Mount Tamalpais, I idly mused upon the subtle meaning of Plato's Republic as I contemplated the threat posed by global warming. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 25 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 87. It seemed most like yet another globular. Then, I checked off M 108 in Sagittarius. It looked like desert sand. With that checked off my list, I sought NGC 3425. It reminded me of the invisible man. Next, I glimpsed NGC 1156. It seemed almost cotton candy. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I glimpsed Abell 5 in Pisces Austrinus. It glowed, rather like dandruff on black satin pajamas. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I added to my logbook M 85 in Septans. It appeared as a swarm of bees. After that, I helped a beginner find NGC 5098. It appeared in the eyepiece like a little triangle. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I stumbled upon M 101. It appeared to be a little triangle. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I observed NGC 3518. It was a dead ringer for George W. Bush. Then, I helped a beginner find NGC 2139 in Lyra. It was easy, just like the pillars of creation. After that, I located IC 163. It glowed, rather like a little triangle. Next, I looked at B 176 in Sculptor. It looked exactly like ripples of water. Then, for a real challenge, I hunted for Abell 33. It gave the appearance of whipped cream. Next, I hunted M 65. It seemed fainter than whipped cream. Then, for a real challenge, I slewed to B 174 in Antlia. It was easy, just like blackness. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I looked at Abell 90 in the western sky. It shimmered, as if it were blackness. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I star-hopped to Abell 70. It was a blurry likeness of a glimmer of the Big Bang. Next, I checked out Abell 42 in an unknown constellation that looked like a toaster. It appeared to be the invisible man. With that checked off my list, I looked at Abell 56. It was a blurry likeness of Alan Rickman. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I sketched M 103 in Ursa Major. It shimmered, as if it were a waterfall.
Finally, it was time to pack up and leave. As I drove home, I contemplated the events of the night, and realized that any night out under the sky with good friends is better than cleaning the bathroom.