Bad Boys II is such a masturbatory male fantasy of T&A and TNT that each of the film’s kabillion kabooms oughta come with a squirt of K-Y Jelly. That said, this tinnitus-inducing sequel to the 1995 comics-as-cops hit is a helluva lot more honest than director Michael Bay and producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s previous team-up: the war-is-pretty, Ben Affleck-is-prettier Pearl Harbor. This 147-minute frenzy claims to be nothing more than an ammo-rich demolition derby, and boy does it deliver in the mindless mayhem department. In fact, it’s safe to say that the combined combatants in World War II used less firepower than Miami men in blue Mike Lowrey (Will Smith) and Marcus Burnett (Martin Lawrence) require to capture and kill a drug kingpin pushing a bad batch of “souped-up Ecstasy.” Then there are the body fluids: I’m thinking someone got a deal on a Sam’s Club supply of squibs. And when our heroes aren’t bickering about their differences—Lowrey is an action-thirsty trust-fund hunk who wants to boink his partner’s sister (Gabrielle Union), Burnett a whiny working-class family man who can’t get an erection—they’re engaged in a trio of blurring, blaring car chases. Behind the wheel, the good guys machine-gun the bad guys while dodging (1) a fleet of shiny new autos flying off a truck and bouncing down a freeway, (2) dozens of med-school cadavers that squish! on impact, and (3) the entire Cuban army. Bay, who had a lighter, tighter hand with the original, helms this one as if he’d popped some souped-up Ecstasy himself. During one shootout, Bay’s ADD POV performs a dizzying continuous loop through two rooms of a crack den and gets faster and faster—going through gaps, gun barrel, wounds—as the fight escalates. When he slows down to reload, Bay forgoes plot advancement and simply allows Smith and Lawrence to “motherfucker” their way through various random but chemistry-rich routines. Much has been made of the flick’s big-finish demolition of a 50,000-square-foot South Florida mansion, which indeed goes boom in truly spectacular style. But the director, apparently, wants more, more, more: The movie’s final standoff ends with a slasher-flick moment that would make Jason hurl in his hockey mask. Consider yourself warned. —Sean Daly