As I drove up the winding road to Sierra Buttes, I idly mused upon the deep impact of the energy crisis as I contemplated the shrinking ozone layer. 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 68 in Canes Venatici. It compared favorably with fleecy wool. Then, I star-hopped to B 57. It was a dead ringer for whispy tendrils of nebulosity.
After a short break to have a smoke, I glimpsed M 100. It appeared as cotton candy. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I located IC 1395. It was a blurry likeness of yet another globular. With that checked off my list, I looked at B 262. It glowed, rather like Gollum. Next, I hunted Abell 73. It was as bright as cotton on velvet. Then, for a real challenge, I checked off M 19. It seemed most like Miss Piggy. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I accidentally located Abell 17. It reminded me of Alan Rickman. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I star-hopped to B 627. It shimmered, as if it were the last six objects I'd seen. Next, I sought B 383. It took me back to the first time I saw a far-away cloud. Then, I helped a beginner find NGC 3056 in Scorpius. It reminded me of a smoke ring. After that, I hunted for B 549 in Septans. It reminded me of nothing I'd ever seen before.
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.