By Charles Kesslering

At one point in my life, Eminem was rumored to weigh no more than 200 pounds. In fact, as late as 2004, he was still "slim," still perched on top of the rap world - still Detroit's wonderboy.

At one point, his rhymes were some of the darkest and most introspectively creative to come from a Caucasian since Poe ("One thought of this cerebral/ Is deeper than a Jeep full of people"). Never before had narcotics been praised so poetically or negligent mothers scathed with such lyrical prowess. Mathers' drive for success resounded in every bar; his thirst for public acknowledgement was sharply audible. At one point, I considered the guy my favorite rapper.

Repeated plays of "Soldier" and "Drug Ballad" used to alleviate the stress of public high school. "8 Mile" solidified my need to become a rap battle champion, while "Lose Yourself" crushed all hope of ever beating "B. Rabbit." With his unbelievable guest spots on Jay-Z's "Renegade" and Dr. Dre's "Forgot About Dre," Slim managed to capture the crown, and stood, in my mind, as the undisputed king of rap.

Then he dropped "Encore," remarried Kim, lost his best friend to a billiards squabble (really Proof? Really?) and re-divorced Kim. He started writing less about killing people, and more about his "pee-pee." The same man who penned the masterpieces on "The Marshall Mathers LP" ("Stan," "The Way I Am," "I'm Back") resigned himself to using the lyric "da-doing-doing-doing" 14 times in a 4:30 track (one phallic-onomatopoeia over 19 seconds). With seeming sincerity, he rhymed "wholesome" with "bum-bum." I almost cried.

It was only a matter of time before 2005's sexually explorative "Fack" pulled the proverbial plug (never, ever listen to this song). My preconceived notion of Eminem was dead (really, don't listen to it). In a mere 200 seconds, the bleached blonde, street-worn emcee that I had revered for years completed his transformation into a rude, 14-year-old boy. The brightest star had fallen from my night sky; the rhyming rug had been pulled out from under me.

Granted, there have been some diamonds in the rough (and I mean rough) since 2004. Scrounging for over an hour in the trashcan that is "Encore," I climbed out with "Like Toy Soldiers" and "Crazy In Love" happily in hand. "Curtain Call" has the opus "When I'm Gone," and "Re-Up" contains the ballad "No Apologies" both of which remind me of the emotional Marshall found on efforts like "Rock Bottom" and "Hailie's Song." However, his most recent guest appearance on 50 Cent's "Peep Show" left me disenchanted. The inspired and inspirational Eminem may be gone forever.

Needless to say, I'm hesitant to hold my breath for any upcoming albums. If he follows his recent formula of lyrical diarrhea, I'm not sure ten dollars is a fair price. I'll hope that's not the case.