Relief, sweet relief as we can finally be quoted accurately on declaring the end of Skins and the start of summer, two things we love more than Michael Barrymore’s pool parties — can we get a Roflcopter?
It’s a slow start to the demise of the series as we know it — yes guys, sorry to say it’s going down shortly, after one final amazefuck of a series with members of each and every cast, probably at uni doing absolutely shit tons of work and writing dissertations on the representation of youth in the media, or not, you know.
Anyway, yeah, so Frankie is around hunting her mum like she’s in a bloody day-glow version of The Hunger Games or something. She’s wearing the same jacket she has been for about nine weeks and its filthy which makes us admire the attention to detail, it’s these little grubby bits that really make the difference.
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Here’s us getting all ready to talk to you about the Skins season finale and how that ending was a bit monumentally rubbish hanging off all the cliffs in the Lake District and it’s only going to be bloody well on again next week isn’t it?
We found that out through the cleverly titled, “Next Week,” section at the end in case you were wondering what sort of powers we had.
On the whole we’ve noticed that Skins is peaking as the unusually fast pregnancy plot moves along.
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“Fresh Meat is coming up in an hour,” are our most dreaded words, not because we’d rather crawl into an oven than watch anything where Jack Whitehall plays Jack Whitehall, but because they mean Skins is on for the next sixty minutes.
It’s all right though, because, this is the penultimate episode so as well as wondering how you spent a good eight weeks watching this in absolute isolation, you can look forward to the days where people might consider letting you near them again without risk of you blurting out terms of endearment that involve the word, “Delish.”
For now though we’re all going to happily continue from where we left of which is exactly with; Oh hark, a vagrant!
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We are pleased, delighted, and completely over-excited to inform you all that the popular director Michael Bay will be getting some money from a film studio to make a film called Ouija. Yes, it’s had a massive budget cut which means that the even more popular director McG probably won’t be directing it anymore, but fear not guys where’s there’s a will, there’s a Bay (see what we did there?)
We can’t show you a trailer because it’s not got that far yet, sadly, but just imagine people sitting in a dark room on the floor moving their hands, while pretending not to, around a wooden board. AOK.
Now, down to business, films, trailers, film trailers, they’re all over the place and one film gets like three trailers sometimes; talk about overkill. Those slick Hollywood suits know how you think though. They’re phone hacking your brain with technology far more sophisticated than we care to disclose at this time and they know you like the trailers.
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We go on the internet, sometimes, and this week we’ve been seeing lots of people ‘Tweeting’ about various musical videos which we intended to talk to you about, but we can’t seem to find them. Instead we’re hung up on the Hulk Hogan sex tape.
It does seem that lots of people have been doing things though and we’re not entirely sure when any of them found the time; between joining dross festival line-ups and announcing two-bit world tours, who has the time?
The Arctic Monkey’s, who the hell do they think they are releasing a steady stream of music like its 2004 all over again. Shall we watch some videos?
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It seems only apt that Skins comes on after Embarrassing Bodies (which we have just realised is on a different channel) as every single one of the ‘young adults’ that consistently get their kit off on this programme should be ashamed of their skin sacks which are here being used for little other than to hold their organs in nearly the right places.
They should be embarrassed that, no matter what age they are, every single one of them is wearing tight hugging day glow boxers and ill-fitting bras. And they never wear those for long. And have you seen their sodding jewellery?
Congratulations are due to Skins though who last night tackled a real subject or at least attempted to. Alo was sent down kicking and screaming for cherry picking in the My Little Pony field, which as we all know is just plain sick and good television it does make as Skins effortlessly rode it’s way to one of the best episodes of the season so far.
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Come on guys you know the Skins drill by now: Bristol, rich kids, drugs, drama, overwrought emotional turmoil, and sweat… buckets and buckets of filthy sweat dripping from practically every pore of every person.
And this week’s Skins hasn’t left us asking specific questions about it, rather, more of a pondering on an overarching issue. Basically, have you noticed that the entire world and all its inhabitants are based in Bristol? No matter how unlikely it is to find Moroccan drug lords and Russian gangsters in Bristol, there they all are.
We’ve been to Bristol, and multicultural it ain’t.
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Today we got a text and what it said was profound and in caps. The delight that greeted us was simply, “TWO DAYS IN NEW YORK: JULIE DELPY, CHRIS ROCK.” We ignored it because why would we not?
We live in a world where it’s okay to like Julie Delpy and her massive idiosyncratic glasses that anthropomorphise her face; yes, we do realise that that’s not even possible. We live in this world, but we don’t have to like it (we do) and we definitely don’t have to watch it (we do).
Anyway, eurgh, movies are rubbish, especially the ones that haven’t even come out yet, they’re so rubbish that they make us feel emotions and always, always wish that our life was like them. It’s nice to wish your life was like the movies. It’s also delusional and if your favourite movie is Natural Born Killers then its borderline psychotic. Trailers are even more dangerous. Trailers compact this into two minutes of adrenaline fuelled longing; it’s like having emotional epilepsy. Shall we watch some trailers?
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