Ode to Steve Buscemi
Words cannot express how truly ugly you are.
Your forehead is never-ending. Your eyes resemble that of a bug about to hit a windshield.
Your teeth are so crooked that you only dare to show the smile they hide behind.
(You know, the smile that looks eerily similar to that of a dying fish.)
Your voice is one of a kind — the kind you’re glad there is only one of.
And yet, I cannot keep my eyes off of you.
You entranced me in Fargo. You were great in Pulp Fiction.
You are the only reason I’ll consider watching Con Air.
When I see your face in a movie trailer I instantly know that it will be a great movie.
(Well, I know the scenes you are in will be great.)
Whenever I hear your raspy voice my heart smiles.
I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Or at least sit through Reservoir Dogs.
You remind me of this guy:
And you give hope to this guy:
You inspire me to be anything I want to be, because if someone as strange as you can make it in Hollywood, then anything is possible.
You are the Master of the Misfits. The Ultimate Outcast.
You give hope to anyone who has ever been told that they aren’t good enough.
(Or that they will never get married.)
You will forever have a place on my list of favorite actors.
And you top my list of favorite people who shouldn’t be famous but are.
Thank you for continuing to make me happy to be strange.
Thank you for refusing to get plastic surgery.
Thank you for never being afraid to be you.