I was able to catch up with a refreshed Kevin Bacon at an undisclosed in the seedy veil of Manhattan. "Frankly I'm shocked," said Bacon. "I've always respected Nick for the work that he does - did he put you up to this? No? Are you sure?" Bacon went on to describe, off record and in a hushed tone, his a primal fear of Cage. He relayed a short tale of a night with Cage, fueled by what he referred to as several South Central Iced Teas, and the subsequent week long detainment in Cage's underground compound on the outskirts of the New Mexico desert, where he was chained to a radiator. "The man is an animal at his craft," Bacon went on to say.
"Wow! Nicolas Cage Award... Nick! That sounds really incredible," said a pedestrian Christopher Walken, whom no one asked.
"I'm proud to extend this award, which takes my namesake, and I'm glad to see it go to with such tenacity. I'm humbled. He's a powerful ally and an even more powerful foe," said a disheveled Nicholas Cage. "I'd love to one day bite him and really find out..." Cage's performances have long been established as movie-ruining (with the exception of Raising Arizona (1987) and 8MM (1999), which were -and are- testaments to the craft). His performances could be described as that of a scared dog which has been foolishly tied up to a free-standing metal sign outside a convenience store near a busy intersection, who spooked and bolted, dragging behind it the the sign which flopped and banged like lightning, chasing the poor dog until it tired itself out. "My award speaks for itself," said a confident Cage, who then turned paranoid. "But what are we going to do to Kevin next?"