YOUR HEART FREED FROM ITS NICOLAS CAGE

your heart freed from its nicolas cage

harry saroff

You are Nicolas Cage’s biggest fan - and his secret admirer. You’ve managed to meet one-on-one with him - and this meeting is taking place in your living room. It doesn’t matter how this happened. It doesn’t matter why this happened. All you know is that it was destined to happen. You’re worried that Nicolas Cage, being the kind, responsible, and respectful star that he is, would refrain from making a pass at you because of his unfair position of power and privilege. ankfully, you happen to have a lit neon sign over your head that reads “You are welcome to seduce me despite your position of power and privilege, Nicolas Cage.” He clearly understands the message, because you notice that Nicolas Cage has a comically large bulge in his pants; and he sees you looking at it.

“So… are you interested in stealing my Declaration of Independence?” he slyly asks. You move closer and look deeply into his eyes, in awe at their pale blue beauty. ey almost seem too magni cent to be called eyes; perhaps “orbs” would be a more tting term.

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“If I were to send you owers where would I... no, let me rephrase that. If I were to let you suck my tongue, would you be grateful? - Face/O (1997).” Nicolas Cage murmurs. e way he cites the speci c movie in which his quote originates gets you hot and bothered. You ask Nicolas Cage what he wants to do. His mouth says “Tool up, honey bunny. It’s time to get bad guys. - Kick-Ass (2010),” but his eyes say you. You step closer, and begin to loosen his tie. He runs his hand over the small of your back.

“I never disrobe before gunplay - Drive Angry (2011),” he moans. He can barely contain himself. “I would... very much like to engage in sexual intercourse that is passionate, sensual, and completely unrealistic by all literary standards. Is that something you would enjoy?”

He doesn’t need to ask you... but you’re very glad that he does. Consent is fucking sexy. You say yes, and allow your hands to tread so ly across his chest.

“What do you say we cut the chit-chat, A-HOLE! - e Rock (1996)” he seductively croons, implying that the ‘Chit-chat’ you need to cut is the playful seduction, and that he would much rather get right

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to Leaving Las Vegas, if you catch his meaning. Not only that, but the way he says ‘1996’ is incredibly sexy. Nicolas Cage ashes a perfect, hungry smile, pulls you close, and begins to whisper - his words ooze into your ear:

“I think we’re a great match. You wanna go at it like the birds and the...”

His delicate, airy, strong, deliciously masculine voice trails o .

“And the... the...”

He stops. His breathing, at rst a cacophany of subtle erotic grunts, becomes laboured and desperate. Fear and panic sew a violent storm in the blue ocean of his eyes.

“No... no... not... NOT THE BEES!! OH, NO! NOT THE BEES! NOT THE BEES! AAAAAHHHHH! OH, THEY’RE IN MY EYES! MY EYES! AAAAHHHHH! AAAAAGGHHH!”

Nicolas Cage begins to unravel in front of you; his proud frame of exactly 6 feet, with no inches to spare, shrivels into a tepid lump at your ankles as tears slowly leak towards his chiseled jaw. Nicolas Cage is

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having a ashback to a traumatic experience tied to the 2006 motion picture e Wicker Man, which was given a 15% rating by Rotten Tomatoes.

You are the only one who can help him.

Help him. Help your Nicolas Cage. rough sheer insight, you pull out your wallet, swi ly rummaging through its many arbitrary pockets, and nd your conveniently-placed medical license. You suddenly remember that you are a Trauma Specialist, and are perfectly equipped to handle this situation. What a romantic coincidence! You list o a series of well-placed tidbits of mental health advice, and suddenly every problem Nicolas Cage has ever had dissipates. He has you to thank, and is incredibly grateful. Nicolas Cage, dried tear-salt rimming his voluptuous cheekbones, brings his head closer to your chest. You hold him to your bosom and stroke his hair as he sni es.

“I’m sorry to get you hard and/or wet only to have a mental breakdown over a traumatic incident I portrayed in the 2006 lm e Wicker Man,” Nicolas Cage sighs. You aren’t upset, as you are no longer in the mood for unrealistic sex that is both passion-

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ate and sensual; you would much rather forge an unbreakable and intimate bond. In this moment of emotional clarity, you realize that the bulge in Nicolas Cage’s pants is still there - and not phallic at all. Nicolas Cage undoes his belt and pulls down his trousers, revealing e President’s Book of Secrets, which he must have stolen from the set of the 2007 lm National Treasure: Book Of Secrets.

“Turn to page 69 to learn the truth,” Nicolas Cage ushers. You follow his command, vivaciously ipping through the pages and careening past national secret a er national secret; all that interests you is this truth Nicolas Cage speaks of. You nally reach page 69, and see, scrawled in Nicolas Cage’s handwriting, “I love you.” He gently brushes your cheek with his hand, gazing longingly into your eyes. You can feel the gratitude radiating from him.

“Why don’t you make like John Travolta and put your face on mine?” Nicolas Cage meekly requests. You eagerly oblige, and share your rst kiss with the Nicolas Cage of your dreams.

“You’re my National Treasure,” Nicolas Cage whispers as he pulls away. You have denied it for

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months... perhaps even years. Now, however, the truth could not be more clear; he is yours. You love him too. You love your Nicolas Cage.

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