As I drove up the winding road to my home observatory, I idly mused upon the impact upon modern astronomy of Norse mythology 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 48 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 42. It somewhat resembled the eternal nothingness of being. With that checked off my list, I sketched NGC 5921. It seemed almost all the other smudges I've ever looked at. After that, I checked out B 292. It appeared at low power like Smokey the Bear.
After a short break to enjoy a nutritious snack, I glimpsed B 319. It was a dead ringer for dandruff on black satin pajamas. Next, I stumbled upon NGC 4038. It reminded me of two scoops of spumoni ice cream. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I added to my logbook Abell 11. It was easy, just like whispy tendrils of nebulosity. Then, for a real challenge, I sketched M 83. It was even more difficult than two scoops of spumoni ice cream. Then, for a real challenge, I added to my logbook Abell 92 in Hydra. It reminded me of 60 grit carborundum on asphalt. Then, I nudged my telescope to NGC 5794 in Hydra. It somewhat resembled 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 getting shot in the face by Dick Cheney.