So I was watching the anticlimactic season 4 finale of Skins and found myself utterly incapable of suspending disbelief. Not because of the silly serial-killer/psychiatrist plot hurriedly bolted onto the show; not because the show's comedy bumpkin-bimbo Pandora suddenly decides that she's a genius on a Harvard scholarship; not even because the Bristol police are outwitted by a trouble-seeking teenaged tosspot.
The decree Absolute for the show's messy divorce from plausability flopped onto the doormat about midway into the episode. There's a scene where having partied hard, the oversexed, overdrugged kiddies pick this
as their chill-out song of choice.
Really?
So I'm prepared to buy into just about every other labored comedic conceit and preposterous plot that the Skins writers proffer (a parade of nubile, and often lesbo, teenaged gals will help sweeten the deal) but 'c'mon! The cool kids of a Bristol college are Buck 65 fans? Surely they're all too busy spending their inexplicable wealth of disposable income on copious class As and condoms to know or care about the self-styled "Weirdo Magnet" of Canadian “Folk hop?”
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