Well, we have ventured forth and viewed "Transformers 2, Something or Other" and I am now prepared to give my opinion.
Anyone with a delicate constitution, those who have not yet seen the movie, and folks who had anything -- at all -- to do with this movie might ought to go visit someone on the sidebar while I pontificate.
Are they gone? Good.
Oh my tap-dancing Goddess, does this movie suck.
Bad. Bad, bad, bad.
First off, the plot.
You want a plot? You can't handle a plot!
So, anything remotely resembling a plot was replaced by a motley collection of hackneyed cliches randomly scattered throughout a series of standard Hollywood sound stages. And as near as I can tell, the most important member of the production company must have been an inebriated gibbon -- whose drunken staggering from cliche to cliche obviously formed the basis for the storyline.
As bad as that was -- and trust me, it was bad -- as bad as that was, the blatant impossibilities were the absolute cherries on that rotten little cake.
I'm not talking about running in the front door of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum -- last I checked still on the Mall in Washington, DeeCee -- and running out the back door into Davis-Monthan AFB boneyard, last I checked still in Arizona.
But I can still suspend disbelief on that one.
And I'm not talking about the pyramids being near the beach, when they're actually a couple of hundred miles inland. No, I can suspend disbelief there, too.
Nor is it all that hard to suspend disbelief at Petra, Jordan being right next to Cairo, Egypt -- what's 600 miles in a good movie?
No, ladies and gentlemen, the one impossibility that I simply could not wrap my mind around was that pair of white jeans.
There is no way on God's little green dirtball that you are going to paint a set of white jeans onto Megan Fox, have her run through a college, several firefights, explosions, a car wreck or two, more firefights, the desert, more explosions, and finally rescued by the U.S. military -- and keep those damned jeans white.
I know the military, I was in the military, and the fact that there wasn't a single hand-print to be seen -- not to mention no mud, blood, soot, grease or random stains -- on those jeans is simply not possible.
Yack. No willing suspension of disbelief whatsoever.