Three years on, the besieged phenomenon -- the scourge, Antichrist or Vanilla Ice of the '90s, pick one -- has been rendered beloved; when they, slick bizzers in suits and cell phones, speak of "Eminem" and "gross" in the same sentence, they're talking only receipts, merchandise, profit. The man, just touching 30, is merely the latest crossover franchise doing brisk business at the local CD outlet and movie multiplex and T-shirt factory; all that's left is a chain of fast-food restaurants peddling My Name Is All-Beef Patties or, for the diet-minded, Slim Shady Wraps. The devil who fantasized on disc about carrying his wife's corpse in the trunk has been sanitized, deified and commodified -- made safe enough, in other words, for curious soccer moms interested in taking a dip into their kids' CD collections or consciousnesses without actually having to listen to "Kill You," "Bitch Please II," "Just Don't Give a Fuck" or "'97... More >>>