Is rap's narkiest grump going soft under the influence of a good woman?
BLOG ENTRY BY: Eminem* CREATED: 24/01/2006
Dear Diary.
I simply cannot believe the last few months have happened. It's like some kind of waking dream, in which I, a humble trailer-park rapper from the wrong side of Michigan, have been transformed into some kind of microphone-wielding St George. Picture me atop my faithful steed, off to do battle with the dragon of unfortunate happenstance in order to win the hand of the fairest of maids, and her equally beautiful young charges.
I speak, of course, only of my lovely girls Hailie and Alaina, and the good lady Kimberley...
Ah, Kimberley! Even saying her name out loud is enough to send cold chills up and down my spine and to make my heart attempt to leap up through my chest, like the salmon leaps through the frosty water on his journey up-river. How her frosty visage haunts my every waking moment. How, in the darkest hour of night, even the slightest thought of her lip-liner causes all thoughts of sleep to desert me. How the touch of her tracksuit against my skin causes goose-bumps the size of lovesick hailstones to rise until my skin resembles an earthquake on the moon.
Naturally, the return of dearest Kim to my loving arms has left me with something of a housekeeping situation. I'm literally 'cleaning out my closet' (how those words have come back to haunt me!). So it's in with the flowery bedspread, lemon-scented washing up liquid and wiping my feet when I've been in the garden, and out with the chainsaw, the shooting-range of people who've called me names, and brushing the fur off my hands when I've been strangling gerbils. Once upon a time, I had a whole cage filled with the little beasts. I called them Kim, Kim 2, Kim 3, Kim 4, Kim 5 and Chris Kirkpatrick. But that's all going to change now.
It's just as well, really, as there's only Kim 3 left, and because of the dramatic upswing in my romantic fortunes, I shall have to ensure that she goes to a good home. Maybe Hailie would like to keep her. I shall have to tell her she is called Kim because daddy missed mummy so much when she was away.
How my heart aches to have to spin these fanciful tales to my beloved daughter, but she would undoubtedly find it much harder to deal with the truth of my last few years of heartache. Besides, that's what my albums are for, and she's FAR to young too listen to them yet. Even the songs that she's on. In fact, to this day she believes 'My Dad's Gone Crazy' is about me duetting with that ringtone frog. I even made that 'ring-ding-ding-ding' noise when she was recording it with me, something I once would have considered beneath my dignity.
But, as the Bible itself says "when I became a man, I put away childish things", and that's why I've decided to stop pretending to be Michael Jackson, or Robin, or Osama Bin Laden, and pack away all of my dispenseful pencils. I'm going to stop picking fights with the world, and settle down with my good lady, my beautiful daughter, and my wonderful niece. I'm going to put all of my energy into becoming the finest husband, father and citizen that I can be. I shall allow Eminem to rest his box-fresh sneakers for a while. I shall be Slim Shady no more. It's Mathers time!
I'd still knock Moby down a big hole, mind...
_
*God, where to start? It's not him, he never strangled a gerbil, and neither should you. Or anyone. Ever. Got that? Don't do it!
I simply cannot believe the last few months have happened. It's like some kind of waking dream, in which I, a humble trailer-park rapper from the wrong side of Michigan, have been transformed into some kind of microphone-wielding St George. Picture me atop my faithful steed, off to do battle with the dragon of unfortunate happenstance in order to win the hand of the fairest of maids, and her equally beautiful young charges. 
Ah, Kimberley! Even saying her name out loud is enough to send cold chills up and down my spine and to make my heart attempt to leap up through my chest, like the salmon leaps through the frosty water on his journey up-river. How her frosty visage haunts my every waking moment. How, in the darkest hour of night, even the slightest thought of her lip-liner causes all thoughts of sleep to desert me. How the touch of her tracksuit against my skin causes goose-bumps the size of lovesick hailstones to rise until my skin resembles an earthquake on the moon. 
It's just as well, really, as there's only Kim 3 left, and because of the dramatic upswing in my romantic fortunes, I shall have to ensure that she goes to a good home. Maybe Hailie would like to keep her. I shall have to tell her she is called Kim because daddy missed mummy so much when she was away. 
But, as the Bible itself says "when I became a man, I put away childish things", and that's why I've decided to stop pretending to be Michael Jackson, or Robin, or Osama Bin Laden, and pack away all of my dispenseful pencils. I'm going to stop picking fights with the world, and settle down with my good lady, my beautiful daughter, and my wonderful niece. I'm going to put all of my energy into becoming the finest husband, father and citizen that I can be. I shall allow Eminem to rest his box-fresh sneakers for a while. I shall be Slim Shady no more. It's Mathers time!
