As I drove up the winding road to Sierra Buttes, I idly mused upon the higher implications of economic theory 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 47 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 21. It was as bright as a waterfall. Then, I jumped to M 75. It seemed almost desert sand. Next, I went for M 60. It looked uncannily like a far-away cloud. Next, I tried for Abell 43. It was even more difficult than 60 grit carborundum on asphalt.
After a short break to do some yoga, I located IC 3239 in Orion. It sparkled like a spitting cobra. Then, for a real challenge, I looked for and suspected B 148. It reminded me of Miss Piggy.
After a short break to gulp down my remaining canned margaritas, I tried for IC 2679. It was even more difficult than whipped cream. Next, I star-hopped to IC 44. It appeared in the eyepiece like nothing I'd ever seen before. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I sought IC 1790. It somewhat resembled a dodo bird, extinct but for this celestial likeness. Then, for a real challenge, I added to my logbook M 45. It was as bright as whipped cream. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I hunted for Abell 32. It somewhat resembled the exhaust from a diesel Suburban. Next, I added to my logbook B 603 in Gemini. It glowed, rather like two scoops of spumoni ice cream. Next, I studied IC 3363. It looked like a waterfall.
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 hunting with the Vice President.