Principal Billingsley: Class, settle down. Settle down now. Unfortunately, your teacher Mrs. Hoover is sick today.

Class: Awww!

Principal Billingsley: Well, don’t worry. We’ve found a great substitute teacher for you. And I think he’s going to make sure you have both a fun, and educational today. Give a warm Lincoln Elementary welcome to Big Brother….

A man in his mid-40’s sporting a large, bushy moustache enters.

Class: Hello, Big Brother.

Big Brother: Thank you, youth league. Thank you, Comrade Billingsley.

Principal Billingsley: That is actually a 3rd grade class, not a, what did you say, youth league? And, I prefer to be addressed as Principal Billingsley when I’m in front of the students.

Big Brother: Are you questioning the principles of Ingsoc Comrade?

Principal Billingsley: Ingsoc? What is that, like Scientology?

Big Brother: Silence!

Five men wearing all black enter the room and quickly whisk Principal Billingsley away.

Jimmy: Where is he going?

Big Brother: To the Ministry of Love.

Class: Love! Eww, gross!

Sally: He’s going to get cooties.

Big Brother: If that is his greatest fear, then yes.

The class stares blankly, clearly not understanding what Big Brother is talking about.

Big Brother: Youth League, rise.

The class obliges.

Big Brother: We will dispense with the usual educational activities, and commence the two minutes hate.

Timmy: But Mrs. Hoover always started the class by reading us a story….

Big Brother: Mrs. Hoover does not exist.

Jenny: Yes she does. She’s our teacher. I saw her yesterday. She is my favorite teacher ever!

Brother: There has never been a Mrs. Hoover. You will notice that no records of her exist.

Timmy: I thought she was just out sick….

Big Brother: She was never alive! To say otherwise would be doubleplus ungood.

Sally: Moustache Man, you talk funny.

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Big Brother: Disobedience will not be tolerated.

The Thought Police enter again, this time, quickly arresting Sally.

Big Brother: As I said, the two minutes hate will begin.

Big Brother turns to the blackboard and draws a crude picture of a man.

Big Brother: Yell at the blackboard for a period of two minutes.

A cacophony of pre-pubescent screams erupts. This was a bad decision.

Big Brother: Okay, you know what, let’s just forget the two minutes hate. I think it’s nap time.

Jimmy: Nap time? We’re in third grade!

Big Brother: Heads on desks.

The class obliges.

Big Brother: Okay, now close your eyes. Relax. Go to your happy place. Think of something calming. Imagine a boot continuously slamming down on your face.

The class bolts up in horror.

Jenny: I’m afraid to take a nap….

Timmy: I’m going to have nightmares….

Big Brother: Well, too bad. I’m the teacher, and I said you have to go to sleep.

Jimmy: You’re not the boss of me!

Big Brother: Slavery is freedom!

Jimmy: No!

Big Brother: Ugh. Fine, what do you kids want to do?

Jenny: It’s time to do math now.

Big Brother: What?

Jenny: It’s 8:30, we always do math at 8:30.

Big Brother: That was before the revolution, before Ingsoc!

Jimmy: More like Ingsmelly.

The class laughs. The Thought Police enter. Jimmy is savagely beaten and dragged away.

Timmy: There will be no math. Ignorance is bliss! Ignorance is bliss!

Jenny: But I want to do math!

The cacophony of screams rises again.

Big Brother: Fine, we’ll do math.

Big Brother removes a flask from his belt. The sweet, sweet Victory Gin is the only thing keeping him from quitting this substitute teaching gig and going back to working at the Dairy Queen.

Big Brother: Okay, we’ll work on some addition. We’ll start with an easy one. What is two plus two?

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Jenny: Four!

Big Brother: I’m sorry, the correct answer is five.

Jenny: No it isn’t, it’s four.

Big Brother: But I say it is five, and therefore it is five.

Timmy: That’s stupid!

Big Brother: You’re stupid!

Timmy: You have a butt face!

Big Brother: You have a butt face! No, you know what, forget it. I’m Big Brother!

Timmy: My big brother could beat you up.

Big Brother: No he couldn’t! I have the Thought Police. They have truncheons, and they literally know everything you are thinking right now!

Timmy: Yes he could! Besides, evidence of your existence is sketchy at best. In fact, you’re probably not even real. You are merely a symbolic representation of the totalitarian government of Oceania. The party invented you as a method of personalizing its policies. You are at best a mascot. You are a political Philadelphia Phanatic.

Big Brother: …What? What does that even mean. How could you even construct that argument, you’re a third grader.

Timmy: I read at a fourth grade level.

Big Brother: What is your name?

Timmy: Timmy Goldstein.

Seemingly instantaneously, the Thought Police appear. They beat Timmy to a near lifeless pulp, while simultaneously placing what appears to be a cage full of rats on his head. Big Brother looks on as his screams echo down the hall, past the café-gym-atorium and out the doors of Lincoln Elementary, home of the Wildcats.

Big Brother: Okay, you know what, recess all day.

Class: Yay! Recess! Yay!

­­­­­The class runs outside to play recess. Jenny stops for a moment before leaving.

Jenny: I love you, Big Brother.

She leaves.

Big Brother: Nailed it!

He finishes the Victory Gin.

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