Post-Traumatic Nicolas Cage Disorder Is No Laughing Matter

A former Marine sounds off about PTCD

Photo art collage by author

There are skirmishes, there are battles, and then there are all-out wars.

There I was, pinned down on all sides. I had graduated from boot camp, but no one had prepped me for what was to come. The enemy moved fast, before I could react. In the blink of an eye, I was a captured prisoner. And thus began the worst 96 hours of my life. It started, like most torture does, with the smiling face of Nicolas Cage.

I was surrounded by dozens of loud, drunk Marines. Marines who were armed to the teeth with a deadly assortment of Nic Cage movies. On VHS. With shaky tracking. One of them even owned Fire Birds, the Top Gun helicopter knock-off. A three-word review of that movie from Rotten Tomatoes says “Sir, no sir!”

I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how shitty Marines’ taste in movies is. Sure, I knew I’d have to watch a few Chuck Norris movies once I hit The Fleet. I prayed Dolph Lundgren would be retired by then. But to my great horror, I seriously underestimated their love of all things Cage.

As my 4-day liberty began, we started with Con Air. I felt like one of the 81 tourists taken hostage on The Rock by rogue Force Recon Marines. “Listen, I’m just a biochemist. I drive a…