Today the world said goodbye to the man that paved the way for Michael Jackson, Prince, Usher, Chris Brown, funk, hip hop, and the man who put soul into everything he touched, James Brown.

I’m not going to make this a lengthy post, but I loved the way his funeral was done. It wasn’t the least bit melancholy. It instead was the perfect show for the perfect showman. A celebration of life rather than a somber gathering to mourn his death.

Highlights include Hammer dancing on stage and seeing Michael Jackson speak on the man he referred to as his greatest inspiration. Michael, with a lacefront wig that puts Tyra and Beyonce to shame, made me want to scream “Miiiiiiiiiiichael” like a five-year-old watching “Moonwalker.” If only he had performed.

Brown's estranged wife, Tommie Rae, bless her heart, is like Teena Marie without the talent. I’m almost certain James thought to rise up out of his golden casket, pimp slap her throat, then head back down to meet his maker. After that performance, I can understand why she’s been locked out of their home.

James’ funeral was one of the best concerts of I’ve seen in years. It made me want to order a fish plate. I kept waiting for them to play “Sex Machine.” Perhaps I missed it.

And I’ve never seen so many men with curls on one stage. Black men with perms roll thick, don’t they?

Watching his funeral on CNN made me want to hurry and achieve my fame now, so I can book Beyonce for my funeral in advance. I would like her to perform the extended mix of “Get Me Bodied” at my funeral" (Pat yo' ceasar, pat pat pat yo ceasar), then proceed to lead the audience into the Ratchet.

All jokes aside, James Brown may have had his faults, but he did a lot for black people, particularly in the ‘60s, and so much for music. His legacy will live on forever.

May he rest in peace.