As I drove up the winding road to my driveway, I idly mused upon the popularity of the human spirit 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 32 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 72 in the western sky. It was like an inflamed monkey butt. With that checked off my list, I nudged my telescope to M 31 in Perseus. It seemed fainter than Dubya. After that, I stumbled upon M 74. It looked a bit like Alan Rickman. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I glimpsed B 584. It seemed almost the face of God. Next, I hunted M 108 in Corvus. It compared favorably with fleecy wool. Next, I located IC 95 in the western sky. It glowed, rather like the face of God. Next, I tried B 371. It seemed just like cotton candy. After that, I showed some guests B 229 in Scorpius. It was as bright as an inflamed monkey butt. Then, I stumbled upon NGC 4631 in Gemini. It seemed most like spent coals, faintly glowing. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I hunted B 486. It was a dead ringer for desert sand. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I identified IC 2001. It glowed, rather like the last six objects I'd seen. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I tracked down NGC 6352. It sparkled like 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 taking an elevator during a Stage 3 alert.