what’s really crappy?

Aside from Carson Daly’s stylist, the D12, and Eminem’s half-assedly lip-synced performance at the Shady National Convention last night, not much. Oh, you know, the usj… Busta had mouth surgery, Donald Trump delivered a speech, 50 performed “In Da Club,” Eminem scratched his eye with the mic hand mid-verse–and miraculously, the rap track soldiered on. More on that in a minute after I–oops, did Bono just reach for my spinach empanada? How’s the cowboy hat, hombre? Why do I feel like I’m at industry convention-meets-Sadie Hawkins dance, and Em’s a begrudging hired hand?
I just wanted to administer love to Obie Trice, and to thank Sirius radio for the niblets. I will tell everyone I know to tune into Shady’s station–at least everyone I know who has satellite radio access–which at this point encompasses my dad only.
Dad! Shade 45! What!!
Also, I have it on good authority that the only person in the US who willingly purchased the slot machine trainers est belonging to le Purple City.
You are surprised?