BI staff writer and movie reviewer, Matt Rooney, explains the “Transformers” series in four parts.
Delirious, out of breath, cold, scared and alone: this is how I went into the third part of my quest. I have made it this far. The only way out is on the other side.
What little bit of my skin that has not peeled off by now has turned into a dark greenish color. What medication I brought with me is of no use. The effects of this ordeal are now being externalized.
But before anything starts I am on the floor with an immense, otherworldly ringing plaguing my head. My hands gripped to it like a magnet. It’s because my body knows what’s coming.
This time they say the robots were actually discovered on the moon. Ah! The pain! Why do they all start like this? Blood begins to seep from my nose. I have to plug it up with duct tape. My options are becoming limited.
Now there is a new pretty girl. This one is far prettier, but somehow much worse. Any resemblance of my love of character is now gone from my mind. I stare drooling like a newborn baby. I believe any emotion I have now is purely carnal.
My friend came to the door asking if everything was OK. I bit his cheek. The lack of food mixed with the moral draining powers of these adventures has forced me into a state I cannot control. I know what I am doing, but I can’t…
My brain is slowly losing all function. There are so many characters and plot devices. Ah the plot holes! So many good people acting like fools when they could be doing something worth merit! Ah, the pain!
I looked down to see three more of my teeth have fallen out. Although I have wounded him, I try to call for help, but the lack of water will not allow my voice to be heard. I lay here as the hero’s mom continues to be the bane of my existence. So…stupid.
Now, just as before, the loud clashing of robots in incoherent madness thrusts itself upon my weakened eyes. But I have lost all function in my ears. I simply stare, drooped down, as I drool. I wish I could call for help, but all I can do is moan in agony. When did that one learn to fly? Where do they all keep coming from? My mind no longer has the capacity to answer.
This edition has finally, mercifully, ended. I have to save what little motor function I have left to write this all down, or I else I would throw what objects I have at the screen. But I have to continue, and document all that happens. Everyone must be warned.
As I reach for the case that contains the final leg of my journey I stop myself and I realize I grabbed something else without thinking: the pistol with one bullet. I wonder why I did that…
