Winston Smith shivered in his tiny house in Victory Ginpalace Mansions as he woke up, trying not to pay attention to the telescreen in the corner of the room. How he hated that machine!
Always watching him whatever he did, and showing propaganda films about Big Brother's heroic leadership in the war against Eurasia. And how he wished he could get more coal, but the ration had been reduced again last month. Suddenly a fanfare came from the telescreen, and he knew it would be time for the Daily Task.
'Comrades of Airstrip One', a stern-looking woman said, 'it is time for your Daily Task. You are now to go to your kitchen and find a slug, and then eat it. Big Brother is watching you', and Smith sighed, how he envied the proles and their freedom to do as they pleased.
He knew that was because the proles in their sectors would never change anything, but he couldn't help but think ... but that was double unpluspatriotic, he reminded himself, and went into his kitchen to find a slug. All the flats in London had slugs and snails, and mould and even rats, and he shuddered at the thought of those rodents, they scared him even more than The Party did.
Finding a small slug behind his little electric oven, he took it into the living room and then ate it. 'Comrade Jones', the announcer said, 'you have not found nor eaten a slug. Do so at once', and Winston was glad his flat was so damp and old, he didn't want the shame of being spoken to by the telescreen like that. 'Doubleplusgood, Comrade Jones, and now the news.'
'A young woman in London has disgraced The Party today by having an artificial chest added to her body. Comrades, such decadant behaviour will not be tolerated by Big Brother! The woman, named Price, has been sent to the labour camp in the Ukraine', and Smith knew that was in the constantly-fought over region where Oceania and Eurasia met.
'Comrades, beware! Such an act was simply treason, and will always be discovered and the guilty punished. She didn't even bother having it done in the right shape, it looks like two half-beach balls in perfect hemispheres and about as genuinely attractive as a lady with a moustache.'
'In the war against Eurasia twelve people bravely jumped into a Mini car in honour of Big Brother today, taking them only five hours to achieve such bravery', and there followed pictures of the twelve all crammed into the car. 'Such devotion to Big Brother will be rewarded by lots of proles trying to write articles about Big Brother, but just churning out drivelling keck. But the proles don't matter.'
'And on a lighter note, Big Brother managed to raise a million pounds last night for his own personal company, KonFixVoteSellAdz. Let us not forget our duty to send our money to Big Brother, Comrades', and the bulletin was over. Winston Smith then made his way to work - though he had to return to his house quickly first, as he hadn't put any clothes on yet.
He wrote for The Daily Bore, The Party's prole newspaper, and today his assignment was to write about Big Brother himself. 'Big Brother is real - honest! - and interesting', was his headline, and then he paused - should he describe Big Brother as mind-numbingly boring, or just as brain-damagingly boring? He took a quick swig from his carefully-hidden bottle of Victory Gin that he kept under his desk. 'Both', he though, and then began writing the article.
'Today sees the start of the most dreadful and uninteresting garbage in telescreen history - but you proles will want to watch it anyway. Yes, Big Brother in his wisdom has decreed that it is doubleplusgood to become hypnotised by the sight of lots of Comrades you have never heard of before doing more and more ridiculous Daily Tasks.'
'You will, of course -' and he put in a subtle threat in the sentence - 'wish to donate lots of money to Big Brother. The Thought Police are ever vigilant. So make sure you are watching your telescreens tomorrow, Comrades, we must all pull together and make Big Brother even richer than he already is.'
Later, as Smith returned to his flat after work, he realised that he had run out of coal, and that it had started snowing outside. He knew it was essential to the war to economise on things, but he wondered if The Party wasn't too harsh with the rationing. He looked in his pockets and found that he had a ten shilling note and a half crown to last him til next Thursday, then the telescreen gave another fanfare.
'Comrades!', said the announcer, 'great news! Big Brother is going to launch a massive attack on Eurasian telescreen viewers this week, but needs your pounds and pennies to help him in his struggle against those unprofitable and interesting documentarians and makers of intelligent, thought-provoking telescreen material.'
'Do not let Big Brother down, Comrades! Send all your money to Channel4BigBrotherTripe now! If you have a 'phone make sure to use it to make Big Brother richer and richer!', and Smith found himself dialling the given number at once.
'Hello?', came a voice, 'how can I help you?' 'I want to give all my money to Big Brother', Winston said, though wondering if he couldn't use the bank note and coin to buy some more coal. 'Very good, Comrade', the voice said, 'please call round at your nearest Party branch tomorrow and make the donation.'
The next day, before work, Smith walked to the nearby Party office and donated his ten shilling note and half of his half crown to Big Brother, and the pretty girl behind the counter there said 'I say 'satire', you say 'censor', let's call the whole thing off!'
And Smith replied 'Well, at least we have a sense of humour, can write satire and invented the modern world. Imagine how boring it must be to live on the other side of Oceania, where all they have invented is an inferiority complex about the people of Airstrip One.'