Dear Chuck Lorre ~

My name is Roger Ian Rosen.  I’m an actor.  I spent years doing musical theatre ~ from European tours to national tours to regional theaters and Broadway ~ and am just now, at a professionally advanced age, getting into the film and television side of the business.  As I’m sure you know, this is difficult.  To date I have not been able to secure either an agent or even a single audition.  Nothing.  I am not alone.  There are thousands of actors just like me ~ ready, willing and able to take on our big break ~ but we are having trouble even getting in the door.

I guess you could say that if the talent were there the doors would open.  I’m inclined to agree.  Although I think we both know that there are many, many actors in Hollywood with little to no discernable talent whatsoever and yet they continue to work and work and work.  And some of them aren’t even good looking.

Chuck, I, along with pretty much the entire rest of the world, and certainly anyone with even a passing definition of themselves as an actor, have watched what has gone on with your Two and a Half Men cast over the course of the last few years.  Those of us who feel that our careers resemble the sound of a dog scratching at the back door begging to be let in have watched some of your very highly paid cast members combust right before our eyes ~ we’ve watched them drown in a world where things appear to be too easy ~ where gifts appear to be taken for granted.

Chuck, hire me.  Hire.  Me.  What can I bring to the table, you ask?  A name?  Hollywood lineage?  Experience in front of the camera?  No.  I bring none of those things.  But I pledge to you, Chuck, I pledge to you that I will not explode like a firework accidentally shot into the crowd rather than up, into the sky.  I will not turn into one of those air shows gone horribly awry.  I will not turn into an MSNBC episode of Caught on Camera.  I will not become addicted to drugs, women or religion.  I will not take to Twitter, Facebook, YouTube or any other social media outlet and prove myself to be a complete fucking douchebag.  I will do what normal, regular people in the real world do ~ I will complain about you to my husband, in the privacy of our home or via my cell phone, which, unless Rupert Murdoch decides that I’m important, will remain private.  Yes Chuck, I promise you that my petty complaints will stay between me and my husband and my major complaints will stay between me and you.  I will never put my negative feelings about you or the show on Twitter parade.

Unless you want me to.  Unless this is all a stunt concocted to drum up ratings.  Then I’ll do it.  And I will do it exactly as viciously or as gently as you want me to do it.  I will do it and I will be grateful for it all.  Because, Chuck, I know what it is not to have, therefore I know what it is to get.  And I know what it is to cherish the moments when one gets what one wants.  And if I should ever decide to want something different, I’ll break up with you, Chuck, with class.  Again, unless that’s not what you, my boss, would want.

And I’ll do it for less than Charlie Sheen’s reported $2m/episode.  Fuck, I’ll do it for less than Angus T. Jones’ reported $350,000/episode.  $300,000 a week?  $250,000?  $200,000?  Per?  Week?  Fuck it ~ Chuck, I will show up at your set on time, I will do my work and I will fucking shoot rainbows out of my ass for you in the press if that is what you so desire for the low, low price of $100,000 a week.  How I’ll get by on that I have no idea.  Hell, I might even go lower.  Because I like you, Chuck.  I like you and I feel for you.  And I want to help.  I’m here to help.  So give me a call.

Sincerely,

Roger I. Rosen