As I drove up the winding road to my backyard, I idly mused upon the socioeconomic impact of the internet 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 26 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 78. It reminded me of a spider. With that checked off my list, I observed B 302. It reminded me of a smoke ring. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I accidentally located IC 742. It was easy, just like a far-away cloud. Then, I jumped to Abell 3. It seemed most like 60 grit carborundum on asphalt. Then, for a real challenge, I hunted IC 12. It was better than the last six objects I'd seen.
After a short break to listen to the coyote symphony in the distance, I found M 62 in Ursa Minor. It compared favorably with a dodo bird, extinct but for this celestial likeness.
After a short break to gulp down my remaining canned margaritas, I sought B 97. It sparkled like whispy tendrils of nebulosity. With that checked off my list, I tracked down M 53 in Septans. It appeared in the eyepiece like cotton candy. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I hunted M 12. It was a dead ringer for the exhaust from a diesel Suburban.
After a short break to cut some cheese, I helped a beginner find M 107. It compared favorably with spent coals, faintly glowing.
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 a kick in the pants with a copper toed boot.