I’ll be the first to admit I was probably somewhat sheltered during my childhood.  My favorite restaurant was Captain D’s  (still a guilty pleasure on occasion) and my favorite snack was Slim Jims (I got a whole tube of them one birthday).  Life was simple…and it was good.

During those formative days, my introductions into comedy were Ray Stevens and Jerry Clower.  While both were successful mostly in the South, they did see a small amount of nationwide notoriety.  Stevens took off-the-wall concepts, put them to music, and turned them into cash.  Clower, on the other hand, was a master storyteller, well steeped in the traditions of church-going southerners.  Of course, the local radio stations no longer feature these gentlemen and the XM comedy stations carry people who weren’t alive when these guys were in their prime.

On the way home this past Friday, I heard a tune that sounded familiar.  As I listened, I noticed that I even knew some of the the words.  Eventually, my brain worked through some of the filing cabinets and recognized the song as one of Ray Stevens’ hits from years gone by.  But the display on my radio was wrong.  It said “Cledus T. Judd.”  What?  Judd does these stupid parody songs that force me to search the dial for an infomercial just to have an upgrade.  I listened a bit more to the song and couldn’t figure out which voice was singing, but it just didn’t sound right.  On my way to work this morning, it happened again.  A diferent Stevens hit being attributed to “Cledus T. Judd.”  This time, I could tell that the voice wasn’t right.  What in the heck is going on?

I came to my desk and did some intense Google searching to find that Judd has actually released a “tribute” CD of Stevens’ songs.  And you know what’s worse than that?  The radio station plays them!  WHY?!  Judd adds absolutely no value to these old classics.  As a matter of fact, his over-the-top hick accent makes me want to bash my radio.  Why not just play Ray’s versions of these songs?  You don’t mess with the classics!  And you kids get off my lawn!

I just don’t know if I can allow my girls to grow up in a place where this sort of thing happens.  The next thing you know, some smooth singing young fella will come along and try to redo the standards of Sinatra.  And you know what…he’ll fail miserably.