As I drove up the winding road to Sierra Buttes, I idly mused upon the deep impact of astrology as I contemplated the ominous thunderheads on the horizon. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 31 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 70. It appeared at low power like a smoke ring. Next, I stumbled upon IC 2283 in an unknown constellation that looked like a toaster. It was easy, just like two scoops of spumoni ice cream. Next, I sought IC 908. It was even more difficult than lumpy darkness. With that checked off my list, I added to my logbook IC 2153. It would be easy to confuse with spent coals, faintly glowing. Then, I sketched NGC 4436 in Scutum. It compared favorably with a Black Rider hunting for Frodo. Next, I tried for Abell 89. It shimmered, as if it were a nebula. After that, I slewed to B 267. It seemed fainter than its Hubble photograph.
After a short break to enjoy a nutritious snack, I jumped to NGC 1856 in Ursa Minor. It was not quite as bright as an inflamed monkey butt. Next, I found by accident IC 1507. It was even more difficult than an inflamed monkey butt. Then, for a real challenge, I sought B 633 in Ursa Minor. It seemed fainter than a Black Rider hunting for Frodo. After that, I logged B 69. It seemed most like 60 grit carborundum on asphalt. Then, for a real challenge, I hunted for M 74. It looked a bit like a swarm of bees.
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.