After coming up in second place in the 1997 Rap Olympics, Marshall Mathers is desperate.
Desperate enough to sell his soul to the devil for success that is.
Literally.
You see, Marshall didn't just lose a competition, that was also his last shot at...
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I still can't believe this shit, man.
It's just too wild.
But Proof slapping me hard as hell on my back sort of brings me out of whatever zoned out state I was just in.
Cause I did pop a few pills before this damn awards show.
The minute I got out of the limo with Dre and my bodyguard, I was rolling so hard, I could hardly concentrate on shit, but still, all them people out there yelling loud as fuck and all of the reporters on the red carpet, sticking the mics in all of our faces and asking us mad questions, was a total culture shock for me.
I had felt out of place as fuck.
Standing there like a complete moron with my hands shoved in the pockets of my pants.
I guess I had smirked at the fans and threw a peace sign or some shit at the camera at some point.
Then, I was sitting in the audience at this year's VMAs and apparently they have just announced the winner for the best new artist category.
And apparently the person that won it was me.
I don't know.
I ain't even heard when the presenters had shouted, "Eminem!!", even though it was apparently loud as fuck too. Or so I was told.
But until doody had patted my back like a crazy motherfucker, and then everybody in my camp that was sitting next to me was shaking my hand and congratulating me, that shit ain't even register.
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I've never heard a thing, but now I'm walking up awkwardly to the stage with my hands shoved in my pockets again.
To be honest, this shit feels weird as fuck.
And I'm too shocked to even register if I'm happy about it or not.
Obviously, I should be happy.
This is what I have been working for my whole life, right, and I'm finally getting recognition I've so desperately craved, you know?
