Colorado. Runner. Yogi. Fucking hilarious, like, 17% of the time.

An open letter to Tim S Roth

Here's the thing. I love Tim S Roth. I mean, love love Tim S Roth. Love Tim S Roth in the way that if Tim S Roth were my new math professor Crockett would be seriously jealous. Even though Crockett probably should be jealous of my actual new math professor... I digress. I have loved everything Tim S Roth has ever done. I used to confuse Tim S Roth with Denis Leary, leading to the occasional Timothy Leary confusion, but I'm over that now. (LSD had nothing to do with my confusion - an inability to associate names with the appropriate face/place/idea is my personal brand of dyslexia. See my Vermont/Virginia issue for proof.) It's Tim S Roth that I love. (I don't have anything against LSD. I'm just saying that Timothy Leary is no Tim S Roth.)

I thought Tim S Roth was the bee's knees in Reservoir Dogs. I thought Tim S Roth was the cat's whiskers in  Four Rooms.

Now I watch Lie To Me, which was just renewed (thank heavens). And I've noticed something. When he plays Cal Lightman, he still looks sad. Always, sad. Or mad. Or psychotic.

Dear Tim S Roth,

Why don't you smile?

No, really. Why? Is it because you, Tim S Roth, have been so frequently cast as bad guys? Did you FORGET how to smile, Tim S Roth?

You should really relearn.

Tim S Roth, you look nice when you smile.

Tim S Roth
Tim S Roth looks nice when he smiles.

Obviously, I've named the toucan behind my shoulder after you, Tim S Roth. I don't want there to be any confusion, in that people would think that you were in this picture. CLEARLY, Tim S Roth, if you were in this picture? I'd be smoochin' on you. And instead I have a flower in my sunglasses that sort of looks like a third eye. If you were actually in the bar at this point, Tim S Roth, I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd run away.

Anyway. Tim S Roth, even unattractive people look better when they smile. You, Tim S Roth, are ATTRACTIVE. Even without smiling. If you did smile, imagine how well that would work out for you.

Lest you think I'm alone in this, Tim S Roth, look at a response I got from the twitter two seconds after sending out a request for proof of your hotness:

@theroseinbloom his dark, creepy exterior masks a smoldering interior of delicious dark sexiness.

Dark delicious sexiness, Tim S Roth. You have delicious dark sexiness in there.

Let it out, honey.

We're waiting.

Love,

Emma

I don't have Tim S Roth's email address. If I did, clearly I'd send this directly to him. Lacking that, I'm sending it out into the internets like a message in a bottle. A bottle with Tim S Roth written on the outside. In bold letters. Bold italic letters. I'd make them neon too, but they'd probably short out in the ocean, and what if Tim S Roth was swimming right at that second and was electrocuted? (Clearly I don't know how neon works. Also clearly? I don't care to learn.)

So, Tim S Roth. My bold italic but not neon message in an electronic internet friendly bottle is on it's way to you. Until it finds you, frown if you must - but when it arrives?

Smile. Please?

P.S. Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka gets all the credit for the inspiration for this post. Any blame that needs to be assigned for lameness can come directly to me.

the fates were against me

There but for the grace of some arbitrary planetary demigod