A James Brown Christmas

No matter how bad your Christmas was, if you are reading this, it was better than James Brown's. The hardest working man in show business died yesterday, at 1:45AM, local time, in Atlanta, Georgia. He probably didn't even get to open any presents. He was only 73. He only performed in London, a few weeks ago. Ironically, my favorite song by him is, "Doin' It to Death." The most fascinating thing I learned about him is that he grew up in a brothel. My distant "cousin," Brenda, looked like him. So much so, she could have been his sister, except he didn't have a sister. He was an only child, like me. He also had the same initials as I do. Will the people who bought him gifts for Christmas take them back to the store for a refund? Imagine turning up at the refund counter and the stroppy person manning it asks you what is the reason you are returning it. "The person I bought it for died." I wonder if the song, "James Brown is Dead," by L.A. Style, be played at his funeral?