Soliloquy in the Key of Cage

Nic Cage walked into The Rusty Nail wearing jeans and an Appetite for Destruction t-shirt. He stood on the bar and this is what he said:

“Am I writing a mem-wah? No, I am not writing my mem-wahs, like some self-important shithead. I’m writing an autobiography. It’s classy. Do you think Bogart would write a mem-wah? He would write an autobiography.” He wiped at his nose and sucked his teeth. “The name of my book is Nicolas Cage: HAD. HAD is in all caps, because it stands for something. Some people think Nicolas Cage HAD a good career, Nicolas Cage HAD a few wives, but I still have a good career, thank you, and like I said, it stands for something. What it means is this: Hard-Ass Dick.” He looked down at the bartender and winked. “When people hear that, they think it’s self-deprecating, and I’m acknowledging how difficult I can be, but nothing could be further from the truth. I’m talking about my equipment, my phallus, yes?” He scanned the rest of the patrons, looking for intrigue in their eyes. He found none. “My HARD. ASS. DICK. This place is fucking dead tonight, come on! I should’ve brought the defib with me. Shock some life into the Nail!” Cage pleaded with his eyes for someone to show a spark of interest. “Speaking of medical shit, I’ve been called a walking-talking-cure-all for erectile dysfunction. The title of my book refers to the concrete cock in my pants, yes, but more importantly, the massive effect I’ve had on millions. Men want my energy, and it inspires rigidity in their loins, okay, and I’m sure there are a few lady boners in this place right now.” Then he pulled a glass pipe out of his pocket. “Now who’s got the fucking rock?”

T.L. States lives in Tucson with his family, and his writing can be found at HobartBack Patio PressRejection LettersHAD, and other places. He can be found on Twitter as @epmornsesh.

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