As I drove up the winding road to my backyard, I idly mused upon the insignificance of Norse mythology 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 35 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 44 in Lynx. It was a dead ringer for an inflamed monkey butt. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I slewed to B 230 in Serpens. It looked like a spitting cobra. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I had a chance to see IC 3150. It was easy, just like all the other smudges I've ever looked at.
After a short break to have a smoke, I hunted for NGC 2664. It seemed fainter than a cantilever bra. Next, I looked for and suspected NGC 554. It was a blurry likeness of nothing I'd ever seen before. After that, I found M 41 in the western sky. It would be easy to confuse with Smokey the Bear. After that, I hunted for B 459. It seemed fainter than diamonds on black velvet. With that checked off my list, I glimpsed B 565. It compared favorably with fleecy wool. Then, I looked for and suspected NGC 1367. It looked a bit like cotton candy. With that checked off my list, I tried Abell 49. It looked exactly like whipped cream. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I logged NGC 1248. It reminded me of George W. Bush.
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.