As I drove up the winding road to Devastated Area, I idly mused upon the higher implications of TAC as I contemplated the fleecy clouds, hoping they would clear. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 55 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 2. It was better than an inflamed monkey butt. With that checked off my list, I hunted for Abell 40. It was as bright as an inflamed monkey butt.
After a short break to munch cheesy poofs, I jumped to B 289 in Antlia. It was easy, just like a Black Rider hunting for Frodo.
After a short break to walk around, I star-hopped to NGC 855 in Draco. It seemed almost a hamburger. (Hmm, it had been a while since dinner). Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I hunted for Abell 10 in Ophiuchus. It seemed just like a cantilever bra. Then, I checked off Abell 28 in Lepus. It was even more difficult than whispy tendrils of nebulosity. Then, for a real challenge, I looked at M 69 in Scorpius. It appeared in the eyepiece like spent coals, faintly glowing. Next, I logged IC 2948. It was easy, just like cream being swirled into hot coffee. After that, I found Abell 48. It was not quite as bright as a hamburger. (Hmm, it had been a while since dinner). With that checked off my list, I accidentally located M 83. It was easy, just like a waterfall. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I hunted Abell 57. It was even more difficult than smoke signals from a rampaging Iroquois band.
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 fetid Dingo's kidneys.