The Hedgehog
Well-known member
Ode to Shed God
In the wilds of Montana, where the antlers once grew,
There lived a man named Shed God, with a muley passion so true.
A hunter of renown, though not a scholar bright,
All mule deer hunting should be by a quota so right.
With a rifle and boots, he'd roam the land wide,
Tracking the elk and the mule deer with pride.
But after a day of the chase and the grind,
He'd find solace in bottles, his thoughts intertwined.
He'd drink till the night blurred, his mind a little hazy,
Then head to the forum, where his posts got quite crazy.
Words spilling out, a riddle, a joke,
Shed God’s drunk ramblings, a muddled old bloke.
But oh, how one Greenhorn would laugh and would say,
"I’d love to sit down and drink with him one day!"
A HopZone in hand, a toast to his name,
For his wisdom and wit, though scattered some days.
He knew every ridge, every creek, every pine,
The secrets of hunting, both yours and mine.
But it was his charm, unpolished but true,
That made him a legend, in the hunttalk crew.
So here's to Shed God, with his knowledge so deep,
The chesty blonde ladies from Dillon may have found him a creep.
Though his posts were a puzzle, and sense hard to find,
We'll miss him, dear Shed God—one of a kind.
Now may his antlers pile high on the wall,
And may his stories linger, whenever we call.
For no matter how tangled his words might appear,
Shed God’s spirit in Montana will always be near.
In the wilds of Montana, where the antlers once grew,
There lived a man named Shed God, with a muley passion so true.
A hunter of renown, though not a scholar bright,
All mule deer hunting should be by a quota so right.
With a rifle and boots, he'd roam the land wide,
Tracking the elk and the mule deer with pride.
But after a day of the chase and the grind,
He'd find solace in bottles, his thoughts intertwined.
He'd drink till the night blurred, his mind a little hazy,
Then head to the forum, where his posts got quite crazy.
Words spilling out, a riddle, a joke,
Shed God’s drunk ramblings, a muddled old bloke.
But oh, how one Greenhorn would laugh and would say,
"I’d love to sit down and drink with him one day!"
A HopZone in hand, a toast to his name,
For his wisdom and wit, though scattered some days.
He knew every ridge, every creek, every pine,
The secrets of hunting, both yours and mine.
But it was his charm, unpolished but true,
That made him a legend, in the hunttalk crew.
So here's to Shed God, with his knowledge so deep,
The chesty blonde ladies from Dillon may have found him a creep.
Though his posts were a puzzle, and sense hard to find,
We'll miss him, dear Shed God—one of a kind.
Now may his antlers pile high on the wall,
And may his stories linger, whenever we call.
For no matter how tangled his words might appear,
Shed God’s spirit in Montana will always be near.
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