Fans >> Fan Fiction >> We Don't Care About Eminem

Yesterday afternoon, I was driving home on Lakeshore. The sun was out and shining brightly, huge-white puffy clouds floated through the sky, a beautiful afternoon with a crisp, coldness in the air. The water had small, frozen icebergs drifting, with a huge blue section of open water out towards Canada. All of a sudden, in front of me I saw who else but Marshall Mathers, known to the public as rap superstar extraordinaire Eminem!

“Hey! Open the door!” he shouted, banging on the door of a large Lakeshore estate. “I said, open the door!” Oh no, I thought to myself. Mr. Mathers wasn’t banging on the door of just any millionaire—this time his shenanigans had meaning. Thinking quickly, I pulled over. “Mr. Mathers isn’t banging on the door of just any millionaire,” I said to my husband Julian Casablancas. “You’re right,” said Julian. “Believe it or not, I too have accumulated a vast knowledge of the very pop culture I shun. That’s Kid Rock’s new trophy mansion. You know that people of the rapping variety, especially when they both call the same city their home, always like to fight amongst themselves. Let’s go catch some of the action!”

As we slowly walked up the steep steps to the very place that Eminem was knocking on with his hip hop hand of fame, the door opened. There stood Grosse Pointe’s resident bag of slime and disgust: the one and only Kid Rock. “What the hell are you doing on my doorstep, fool?” he said. Julian and I watched inconspicuously from behind the billowing baggy track suit of Eminem. “I just heard your song on the radio—and you supposedly take punk rock and-a mix it the hip hop. Which is why I now have to challenge you to a rap-off!” Eminem said, slapping his hand against his chest in an unrecognizable symbol.

“Wait,” whispered Julian, peeking out from behind Eminem’s flapping, extra large terrycloth sleeve. “Why are we still here? We don’t care about Eminem.” “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s go enjoy the rest of the beautiful day with Jack and Meg.”

And so we left, driving off into the sunset and leaving the stupid, overrated rap-off to people who care, like Pamela Anderson and Entertainment Tonight.