Good morning, ladies of Ridge Heights,
any oil rig workers, mountain Sherpas,
or International Space Station listeners who might have survived the Pocko, too.
It's been 44 days since the waters rose,
and, not to brag, but we're kind of killing it.
Not that I'm surprised. If you've ever been
to a hens' party weekend at a beach house with a 10:00 a.m. checkout,
then you know that women get shit done.
Everyone knows that the key to a successful hens' weekend
is the maid of honour,
and Saskia Vanderbeek is that woman for us.
What do we say? Ride or die!
Ride or die!
- Ride or die! - Ride or die!
Ride or die!
Is she a pain in the ass? Yes, she is.
But would you want her job? Fuck, no.
Because without that woman, we don't get the cheese plates,
or the table with the view,
or the matching monogrammed robes that you never wear again,
but you still have to pay for.
Mooncup's on loan, folks.
But she always bleeds long.
And thanks to her insistence on excessive exercise, limited rations,
and immaculate personal grooming, we've kind of never looked better.
Come on, faster. Harder!
We're riding to radio for rescue! Come on!
Go! Go!
Go!
I know, I know. It's like, who cares, you know?
No one's checking us out.
But, somehow, our hair has become the last vestige of our normality.
And we are not fucking letting it go.
And that's our show for today, folks.
If anyone is out there listening, please drop us a rescue boat anytime.
We're at 34.4100 degrees south and 150.3037 degrees east.
Over and out, folks.
You're late.
It's definitely live.
You know that you could just plug it in to see if it works, right?
Yeah, I could, but this is more fun.
Do you know...
I don't know which wanker English teacher it was
that managed to convince the library to buy The Wire
as an educational tool for teenage girls, but I thank them. Mmm.
Where'd you get those?
Garrity's desk.
Fucker sure had his favourites.
Yeah. I'm sorry no one ever saw any potential in you, Phoebe,
but are we done here?
That depends, Sas.
Is Sandy still dead?
I hope not.
'Cause 44 days and counting,
I'd say she's, like, super dead.
You know who else is super dead?
Stringer Bell, in season three. Happy viewing.
Fuck, Sas! No! You...
Not Stringer Bell. Fucking hell!
Oh, my God...
Are you all right?
Administering her medical flap.
Still alive.
Ripped off.
Oh, man.
Okay, Unmemorable Lauren is fine.
Get back on your bikes.
Is she kidding?
Come on.
- Saskia, you can't be serious. - Or do you want to be stuck here forever?
Because that's what'll happen if we don't send out a radio signal
every single day.
No riding, no radio, no rescue.
- But... - Back on your bikes!
Okay. This is dangerous now, Saskia.
We are killing ourselves charging batteries, and for what?
So we can crowd around one laptop and watch season four of 7th Heaven?
That's the season where the blond brother with the big eyebrows gets hot.
Okay, okay. Simon's off limits.
But, Saskia, we don't need to waste literal energy
with the straighteners and the curling thingos.
Radio signals and protein and rest should be our priorities.
Having a neat head of hair
is the equivalent of working from home and making your bed every day.
It sets a standard.
What about this fucking standard?
She's breathing, isn't she?
You know, for someone who dedicated their life to menstrual equity,
your internalised misogyny is showing,
girl boss.
- Ooh! - Burn.
Oh, I don't hate women, Pepé.
I just hate you.
And the next time I see you,
there will not be a single strand of hair out of place on your head.
Do we understand each other?
Now pick her up.
Okay, guys, what do we say?
Ride or die!
Ride or die.
Ride or...
Die.
Die!
There is a part of my head that's like,
so you just watched a woman collapse,
and you felt nothing.
And that's not normal, you should feel...
awful, crippled with guilt, like...
But then I can also hear his voice in my ear,
and he's...
He's saying, "No, actually, you made the right call.
If you stop riding, then you stop surviving."
And...
I mean, I've heard him like that for years.
Like when Blue Bloods first IPO'd,
the first thing I thought was "Oh, my God, Ryan..."
"Ryan would be so proud of me."
And I don't really know what to do with that because I don't...
I guess I don't understand how...
the person who fucked you up so badly,
um, could also be the voice of encouragement that you need to go on.
You know?
Sorry, it's embarrassing. I thought I'd figured this all out
with my actual therapist years ago, but clearly not.
Hey, Sas?
This room was fucking filthy.
Oh, my goodness, you are busy with something.
- I'll come back. - No, I'm not.
Sas, you're mopping the carpet.
What do you want, Teresa?
I just wanted to check on you, see how you're feeling
because, you know, you went pretty hard on Pepé earlier.
And?
And, um...
I don't know, maybe she's right.
We have been riding really hard and we're not eating enough to sustain it.
Yeah. Yeah, you're right.
Because she's not wrong.
- We do need protein. - Yeah.
And you're the one who's in charge of the food.
So, where the fuck is it?
Yeah.
You're right.
I'll get on that.
Sas, you know that you can talk to me, right?
About anything.
I just did, so...
- I'm so sorry.
Phoebs, could we get some lay-by?
Our jelly legs need some credit.
- Ah, thank God.
Hey, Renee, can you, um...
Can you find out what she's doing?
Can't you just talk to each other already?
Uh, no, that's not how fights work, Renee.
Can you at least just, like, suss out what she needs all the batteries for?
Powering a freaking jet ski or something?
I just, I don't think it's any of my business.
You're right, Renee. It's not.
And can you please inform Zoe that it's none of hers either?
- Amelia says that it's none of your... - Renee, can you please tell Amelia
that, as SRC rep, the welfare of the entire class is in fact my business?
- Um, yep, sure. Uh... - Renee,
please tell Zoe to move on already and find someone else to obsess over.
- Yep. - Move on? Don't flatter yourself, mate.
I've got options galore. Oi, Fuzzy Laura, wanna bond?
No, I'm good.
Renee, can you please tell Amelia
that Forgettable Laura doesn't count, obviously?
She...
Real friggin' mature, guys.
- Sudafed? - Mm-mm.
- Cough syrup? - No.
Nutmeg?
- No. - What?
- Not even nutmeg? - Not even nutmeg.
Um, the only thing that I have that might fuck you up
is Prolexoft or the contraceptive pill.
Fine. Happy pills, it is.
Whoa, whoa, hey, um, just so you know,
antidepressants won't get you high.
Yeah, it takes weeks for Prolexoft to alter your brain chemistry.
- Apparently. - We're not fucking amateurs.
Yeah. Obviously, we're going to cut it with some bath cleaner,
maybe a splash of dandruff shampoo,
a dollop of craft adhesive for good measure and...
Bam!
A Pocko loco, baby.
Sick.
Or how about we...
Or how about you just get over yourself
and make up with Zoe, so you don't need antidepressants.
- Yeah, that's not how depression works. - Oh, hurry up.
Time is batteries, people.
Megan, Megan,
who lent you that hoodie when Kim Shiner put a chocolate Paddle Pop on your chair
- and you look like you shat yourself? - This bitch.
- How could you bring that up right now? - Yeah.
After all these years, you're going to cash it now?
Fine.
Risk the blood clots and take the old boring pill.
- Thank you for your custom. - Junkie.
- Prolexoft. - It's three batts a box now.
- Wait, what? Why? - You saw them. Supply and demand, baby.
Come on, Phoebe. You can't just up the price.
Yes, I can.
It's all in the game, yeah.
♪ It's all in the game It's all in the game ♪
Get out, get out, get... Next!
Tin bickies, what you doing?
Holy snapping duck shit!
What happened to your money-maker, mate?
I, uh... I lost a fight with a possum on the roof, trying to get dinner,
so now I'm onto seafood.
I never thought I'd get used to this view, but here we are.
I know this is silly, but I still think we're going to get rescued.
If we're here, surely there's got to be others.
Fuck, yeah. We're not even on the highest point of Australia,
let alone the world.
I'm sure Venice is probably fucked, but Brisbane? Nah!
Mark my words, tea towel.
The Brown Snake is still slithering on.
You know, you don't have to keep saying that just because my embryos are there.
And Mitch! Shit. I keep forgetting.
This is nice.
How come we've never hung out like this before?
Saskia!
I'm worried about her, Zo.
Ah.
You stumbled upon the therapist?
Oh, my God, is that what that was?
Yep. Walked in on that shit a couple of weeks ago.
She was pretending to do karaoke into the mop.
"Runaway" by The Corrs.
Hmm.
I hate to agree with Genevieve, but she's right.
Saskia's priorities are all out of whack.
- My turn next? - Mmm.
What is the deal with Amelia?
I mean, what the fuck is she charging all those batteries for?
Whoa! Oh!
Motherfishcakes!
- No way! - We caught a fish.
We caught a fish.
Wild-caught fish with a Vegemite glaze.
- Come on!
Martha Stewart ain't got nothing on our Teresa May.
She hunts, she gathers, she glazes.
She's going to make that possum her bitch, eventually, aren't ya?
It's Teddy Bear Grylls, everyone.
Well done, Teresa.
Everybody, dig in.
You deserve it.
Deserve what? Salmonella?
Thirsty, chill. That clearly ain't a salmon.
'Cause salmonella!
Ooh, yes.
It feels so good.
Well, it looks like shit. Can I have that?
Thank you. Protein was actually Pepé's idea, guys.
So I think it's only fair she gets the most nutrient-dense meat, don't you?
Can you serve her up the eyeballs, please?
- Saskia, you can't be serious. - Do you want to eat the butthole?
Two eyeballs...
with a Vegemite glaze.
You have a choice.
Go and fix your hair,
or eat the eyeballs.
Mmm.
Tastes like salty grapes.
Mmm.
I enjoyed that so much. I think I'll have another one.
Oh!
- Oh, my God! - Oh, someone help her.
- Renee!
- Do something! Help her, Renee! - Just do something!
Oh! Ew, ew!
You know you're not meant to be here this late. Go.
Yeah, because in the activewearian free market economic model,
post-industrial survival of the fittest totally self-regulates.
No! What are you...
I said go.
Looking tired there, Sas.
- Whoa. She's live.
It's a filthy fucking habit, Phoebe.
You know, Lucinda hated smoking, too.
Who?
Real pretty young little thing, used to intern at my work.
Yeah, she hated smoking.
She couldn't even be near it.
She graduated from Ridge Heights three years ago.
Poor little thing.
She was so fucking taken in by Garrity,
she got his name tattooed on her rib cage.
Just "Ryan,"
in cursive, right here.
Apparently they only lasted six months after she graduated
before the wife found out.
- Are you enjoying yourself? - Yeah.
Thank you for asking, by the way.
Making the coolest girl in school realise that she's not fucking special?
Yeah, I enjoy it.
Thanks for the battery.
Six months? I just...
He picked me up from Schoolies, and then, three weeks later, he was done with me.
I've spent years working on this shit.
And now I'm jealous.
- Bike strike, bitch. - What?
Until the hair shit goes,
I'm not riding.
Fine.
We don't need you.
Do you hear me?
You could choose to do nothing, and that would be fine.
This class is going to be okay.
You will be shocked to realise how inconsequential you really are.
But I'm not going to ask you again.
If you're not going to ride, then you don't get to be a part of this.
Mean Girl 101, folks.
"You can't sit with us."
You can't.
No batteries, no food, no bunk, no hot water.
You can shelter in a long-drop,
but other than that, you're on your own.
Sas, come on. That's too far.
Ooh!
Detention, Pocko-style.
What are you going to do, Saskia? Make me?
No.
But they will.
Because if you don't go to a long-drop right now,
no one gets their batteries tonight.
- What? - Come on, Sas.
It's my turn with the electric toothbrush.
Genevieve, please, just ride okay?
Or go, or go wash your hair, I don't care.
But the rest of us are counting on these batteries.
Come find me at the shitters when you're all done being cowards.
Viva la bike strike!
Sas, come on...
Pepé's a pain in the ass, but you can't banish her.
And she's kind of got a point.
I mean, we could maybe ride a little bit less
and do our hair every other day, right, guys?
I'd like that. This is very high maintenance.
Do you agree?
- Yeah. - Okay.
- Because of everyone's little outburst... - What are you doing?
You don't get to cash in that battery either way.
Saskia, that is not fair.
Don't fucking forget that I built all of this, okay?
If you want to sit in the dark...
- No, no, no, no! - ...and shit in the woods
like a bunch of fucking pigs, be my guest.
But if all you're gonna do is sit around and bitch about how good we have it,
I'm done fucking around!
We need to get out of here before Sas goes full Jonestown, so...
Ta-dah!
You're going back to Brisvegas, T-intersection.
What is it?
Um, it's a boat.
- Right. - It's your boat.
All she needs now is a mast, matey.
You were always a shocker for regifting, Zo-Zo.
- Oh, no... - Oh! No, no, no, it's fine.
I love it. Thank you. It's great.
Good. You deserve it.
Unlike Amelia.
I mean, apparently,
when you declare that you're BFFs for life...
...all it really means is, like,
"Well, maybe I'll like your Insta pics every two years or so."
Know what I mean?
Anyway, even if I wanted to make up with her at this point,
she's too busy charging her fucking batteries
to power her gigantic vibrator?
Like, honestly, that's, it's the only explanation there could possibly be.
Yeah, um, look, Zo...
Every night at dinner, I see Amelia take a little pill.
Megan and Tegan have been going on and on
about not being able to get happy pills all day.
Okay, so...
I think Amelia's on antidepressants.
Wait, what?
Fuck!
Ew.
It's bad. It's bad. It's bad. It's bad, isn't it? It's bad.
It's okay, T. It's just a bruised nail.
But it is going to need surgery, okay?
Uh, this isn't dinner and a show.
Get out of here!
Go!
Hey.
I am not going to leave your side, tea cozy.
Don't you worry about that.
No, no. You should definitely go.
And you should make up with Amelia before you take someone's eye out or something.
Oh. Okay. Yeah, for sure.
Oh, shit, sorry.
Sorry, no, I just mean...
You know, you can't just expect to replace her.
Yep.
- You can go. - Yeah, I'm gonna go.
Renee, you have to stay.
You too, Phoebe.
Duh! M.D. coming at you.
- What? - What have we got painkiller wise?
Not much.
Just use whatever you need to to make it as painless as possible, okay?
Renee, have you got this?
Yeah, [scoffs] sure.
Yeah, of course I do.
Actually, no different to when I worked for Médecins Sans Frontières.
- It's the same, exact same conditions.
You know?
How many times I gotta tell you, Phoebe? It's a filthy fucking habit.
- Wait. So are we... - Just take it off.
You're different to the other girls, Saskia.
Mature.
Don't hate me when I tell you...
I'm going to have to mark you down on your essay.
- But... - I know, I know, it's shitty.
We can't have people thinking that I'm playing favourites.
Even if you are my favourite.
You understand that, don't you?
Fuck!
That's three batteries.
Prolexoft.
Um, you're going to need two more batteries for that.
- What? - Inflation due to medical emergencies.
I need those pills, Phoebe.
That is the only thing stopping me from hurling myself into the sinkhole.
It's Pocko, babe. Everyone's depressed.
Yep, she's out. Go for it, mate.
Okay.
Um...
Maybe...
Just count me in.
No worries.
All right, one, two, three.
Weren't we just gonna take the nail off?
Sas said, "Take it off."
- Oh, my God. Oh, my God. - Fuck me.
I didn't mean to lie!
It just came out at the reunion. Everyone was just so fucking accomplished.
And Sandy! Oh, Sandy, when I told her I was a nail technician,
she patted me on the head and I just, I felt so totally inferior.
And I'm just, it just slipped out. I said, "Oh, I'm a doctor," okay?
And, you know what, it felt really good.
But then the Pocko came,
and everyone was like, "Thank fuck we've got a doctor."
What was I gonna do then?
Tell them they're going to die because they don't have...
It's clear you're not a doctor!
But I haven't got any time for your impostor bullshit.
There's a toe bleeding the fuck out.
All right? So right now, I need you to shut up
and burn shit out of this so you can use it to cauterise that toe
until it smells like teppanyaki.
Mmm. Who's cooking a steak?
Hi, Teresa.
The surgery went very well.
The large left-foot phalange was removed
without any complications.
There may be a bit of residual pain,
- but other than that... - I'm sorry, uh...
Did you just say "removed"?
That's correct. Our good doctor here
did exactly what she was instructed to do by Saskia and took it off.
Uh...
- I'll just... - Anyway, we must away.
- That's not...
Oh, my God. You told them to cut off my toe?
- No, no. - I thought it was just the nail.
It was. They misunderstood.
Why would you tell them to cut off my toe?
It wasn't even that bad. They didn't have to cut off the whole toe.
What the hell, Saskia?
Hello?
You know what, Teresa? I think you might be right.
I think I'm not really coping.
Oh, my God! What? What?
Yeah, it's just that, um, all of this shit is coming up.
This, like, really fucked-up shit that happened to me while I was here.
- And I'm kind of just realising now... - You want to talk now?
Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your foot.
- I really am. - Oh, why don't you go and talk
to your fake fucking therapist, you crazy fucking bitch?
Uh-huh.
Dinner's due in an hour, Teresa.
And the women are expecting fish.
So if I were you, I'd chop-chop.
Or should I say, hop-hop?
So, this guy's, like, my favourite, and he is such a sweetheart
and he is also really clever.
I didn't watch any TV growing up, so this is like...
Phoebe.
I just cut off a woman's toe.
Yeah.
And you covered for me.
Why?
Because I get it, Renee, you know?
I worked my ass off to get into this school.
Like, I earned my academic honours.
And it means shit because these girls still look down on you
if you're not the daughter of some dickweed CEO.
You know? So, like, you want to tell us that you're a doctor, then...
fuck them, you're a doctor.
So you got to own it, eh?
Like, in the words of Proposition Joe, who you'll meet, actually,
um, "You've got to look the part
and be the part, motherfucker."
- What the fucking fuck? - What kind of crap medicine was that?
- Misinterpret this, you fucking-- - Get the fuck off her.
And you!
This is what you fucking wanted from me, isn't it?
Is for me to lose my fucking shit.
Yes. Yes. Remind you who runs this joint, okay?
So unless you're here to deliver batteries,
- you better calm the fuck down, Sas! - I don't give a fuck!
I don't want your fucking deal any more, Phoebe!
He was still fucking working here.
Doesn't anybody care?
Did you really think I was going to let
some Gordon Gekko scholarship scab blackmail me forever?
I'm fucking done.
You're all right. You're all right. You all right?
Mm-hmm.
How many more do you need?
Two.
You can't be demerius.
Bitch gotta get got.