Last night I was jolted awake by the loudest commotion I'd ever heard coming from my anxiety closet. It wasn't just the usual banging and clanging - no, this time I could swear I heard music too. And not just any kind of music either, but funky music. Hot-buttered, foot-stompin' funky.

The music grew steadily louder, and with a sudden crash I heard my closet door being violently flung open.

"Get up!" growled a voice in my darkened bedroom.

"What the... who the hell..." I sleepily mumbled.

"I said GET UP!!!" screamed the voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm up!"

"Can you hit the light?!"

"Huh?"

"CAN YOU HIT THE LIGHT?!?!?!"

"Yes! Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ, I can hit the light! Take it easy, man!"

I grabbed my glasses off the nightstand, hit the light switch, and...

Oh my God...

It couldn't be.

It simply couldn't...

But it was.


It was James Brown!

As you can imagine, I was starstruck. I was in utter and complete awe. Soul Brother #1 right here in my apartment! But before I could offer a single word of praise or appreciation, he started right in on my case.

JB: Good Gawd, Hammer! Look at this place!
Me: What are you talking about?
JB: Don't you want to get on up and get into it?
Me: Ummm... I guess so.
JB: Like a sex machine?
Me: Well, sure.
JB: Then we're definitely gonna have to clean this joint up a little bit. Now get up offa that bed!

Suddenly, a pall came across James Brown's face. He looked horrified. He pulled a bottle of Windex from his suit jacket and pointed to the mirror across the room.


JB: GOOD GAWD!!!
Me: What? What is it?
JB: Hammer! Your mirror is dusty! MY REFLECTION IS DUSTY!!!
Me: Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that, James.

James Brown glared at me.

JB: You may call me Mr. Brown.
Me: Sorry, Mr. Brown. I apologize.
JB: Don't let it happen again, son. Now about that mirror. Should I clean it off?
Me: Sure, if you want to.

James Brown glared at me again.

JB: Come on now, Hammer, you know that's not how it's supposed to go.
Me: [Smacking myself on the forehead] Oh man, you're right! Can we start over?
JB: Alright then. Should I clean the mirror?
Me: Yeah!
JB: Should I clean the mirror?!?!?!
Me: YEAH!
JB: I said SHOULD I CLEAN THE MIRROR?
Me: YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
JB: Let me count it off! One, two, three, four! Clean the mirror!

And with that, James Brown cleaned my bedroom mirror.

JB: Okay, Hammer, what's next?
Me: Well, Mr. Brown, the kitchen could probably use some work.
JB: Sounds like we're in for a long night, I better get some more outifits.
Me: More outfits? What for?
JB: You don't expect James Brown to sing all night in the same outfit all night do you?
Me: No, of course not.
JB: Well the hardest scrubbing man in show business doesn't clean in the same outfit either.

I was already up to my elbows in soap suds by the time James Brown joined me in the kitchen. He dried a couple of plates and looked down into the sink.

JB: Well, well, well!
Me: Well what?
JB: You know what we've got here, don't you?
Me: Um, dishwater?
JB: No! It's the Throwing Hammers Celebrity Washtub!
Me: Washtub?
JB: Washtub!!!
Me: Washtub?
JB: WASHTUB!!! Is the water hot-uh?!
Me: Yeah!
JB: Is the water wet-uh?!
Me: YEAH!
JB: [Sticking his finger into the dishwater] Owwwwwwwwwwwww!!!! Too hot in the washtub!

Deciding that it wouldn't be prudent to risk damage to his impeccably manicured hands, I took care of all the dishwashing myself and let James Brown just hang out and sing the washtub song while I worked. Although my kitchen was far too narrow for him to do any splits, let me assure you that even as a ghost, the Godfather of Soul still has all the moves.


After I finished the dishes, I yanked the bulging bag out of the trash can and told James Brown I'd be right back. By the time I returned from the dumpster outside, he already had a replacement in hand.

"Papa's got a brand new trash bag!" he exclaimed.


The next few hours passed in a groovalistic blur. We scraped and scrubbed. We swept and mopped. We vacuumed and dusted. We yelled and danced like our feet were on fire.

Me: What are you going to clean now?
JB: Hammer, I don't know. But whatever I clean, it's got to be funky.
Me: Well, try the bathroom then.

I figured he'd refuse on general principle, but to my great surprise, James Brown agreed to clean the bathroom while I went to work in the living room with a bottle of Lemon Pledge. However, it wasn't long before I was summoned by a ruckus down the hall.

JB: Yeeeeeeeeeow!!! GOOD GAWD!!!
Me: What?
JB: It's too funky in here!
Me: Come on, Mr. Brown, I just cleaned the bathroom last week.
JB: I said IT'S TOO FUNKY IN HERE!!!


Me: Alright, alright. You want me to do the bathroom instead?
JB: Please, please, please!
Me: Fine. You're off the hook, I'll take care of the bathroom.

An hour later I was done, but as I went see if I could offer James Brown any refreshments, he was already packing up his outfits and preparing to leave.

JB: Well, son, we definitely got on the good foot tonight didn't we? I'm so proud of the work we did, I want to jump back and kiss myself.
Me: I have to say, Mr. Brown, the apartment looks good.
JB: I knew that it would!
Me: In fact, it's never looked better.
JB: Thank you, Hammer. Now goodnight, and don't worry, someday James Brown will be back!
Me: Could I just, um...
JB: Yes, what is it?
Me: Well, you see, I was wondering... I mean I wanted to ask... Ask if...

James Brown's features softened, and he began to smile. "Go ahead and ask the question, son."

"Is... is there a heaven?"

"Oh yes," he said. "It's the place where grooves come true."

James Brown gathered his outfits and walked back towards the anxiety closet. As he was about to close the door behind him, he paused for a moment and leaned back into the bedroom to tell me one last thing.

"Don't forget your wallet though," he said. "Saint Peter is checking I.D.s and there's a $10 cover charge."

And with a wink he was gone...

Doin it. You know. Likea-likea clean machine.


I want James to come over to my casa.

Laughing too hard to comment articulately...

Thanks. I needed that.

im afraid of james brown..and clowns... so if he popped out of my anxiety closet.... well... id have had to clean up where i wet my pants..
xoxo

Brando: Say it loud! I quote JB and I'm proud!

Dagny: You're most welcome. It was a funktastic evening indeed.

S.B.: Stephen King ruined clowns for all of us, but let me assure you that you need never fear the Godfather of Soul and Patron Saint of Hot Tubs.

Imagine me bowing low in an "I worship you" type of pose. Wow.

You know JB is one of my great lifetime heroes, and you know that you're way up there on my list of Very Cool People. You might also know that I love clean spaces and spend a lot of time cleaning. it's part of my Plan to Stay Sane.

So, this post, well ... it does everything a post can possibly do for a clean person who worships JB and adores you. Yes.

If you want to get down, as the man said, you got to get in D. I think he meant, in D Anxiety Closet.

I salute you!

LOL - The pictures are priceless.
Did you have some JD with JB? Anything that makes cleaning more fun is groovalistic!

Thank you for making my day. This was AWESOME.

Great job. Of course, I couldn't help but hear in my brain Eddie Murphy singing about getting into his hot tub.

Hey! I feel good! Like I knew that I would -- after reading this post.
Exxxxcellent!

Reya: Clean, open and airy spaces help keep me sane too. Much easier to relax and/or think in them.

Freewheel: Nah, JB is more of a top-shelf gin guy and besides, DUI (dishwashing under the influence) is never a good idea - too many knives.

M.A.: It's a known fact that James Brown (in any form) can never do anything but improve the quality of one's day.

Arjewtino: I have that skit on DVD. One of the top 20 comedy moments of all time as far as I'm concerned.

Bozoette: The funk, much like HBO or the NFL Network, should be spread freely across America. Just happy to do my little part.

classic hammer :D i woulda commented earlier but i cant comment from work for some reason. booosheeit.

Considering the frequency with which THE MAN kept James Brown down, it is not surprising in the least that THE MAN would prevent you from reading about his glorious return.

I know you hate the "well done" comments, but that's all I gots right now.

Well done.

Oh I don't hate *receieving* them, I just don't give them very often. (I always feel guilty if my comment doesn't break the 3-word barrier.)