55 posts tagged with "Absurdity"

Old Wang clutched a crumpled movie ticket, on which the words "Bench Ticket" were clearly printed. He looked around; the cinema lobby was bustling with people, each carrying a variety of benches. There were small plastic stools, bulky wooden benches, and even someone lugging a foldable lounge chair.

"These days, you even have to bring your own equipment to watch a movie," Old Wang muttered. In his hand was an old wooden plank he had found at home, looking rather shabby.

Old Wang opened a lotus root cake shop in an urban village. It was small, just a fryer and two tables. His lotus root cakes were crispy and delicious, famous far and wide. Every evening, a long queue formed outside the shop, filled with the warmth of everyday life.

The fireworks on New Year's Eve were more dazzling than ever before. Programmer Li Ming squinted, his fingers flying across the screen. He wasn't working overtime; he was decoding.

The stage lights slowly dimmed, leaving only a spotlight shining on the center of the stage. He, no, it, gracefully bent over, making a perfect curtain call pose. The applause of the entire audience was thunderous and long-lasting.

“Perfect!” In the control room, the project leader, Lao Wang, excitedly slapped the table, his face beaming with pride. “This is the most successful performance of our ‘Transcend’ series! ‘AI Dance King’, indeed!”

Old Li was used to giving his son a big red envelope on New Year's Eve for good luck. In previous years, they were always bulky, tangible ones, wrapped in brand-new red paper, heavy and filled with human touch. This year was different. His son was far overseas, so he could only send an electronic red envelope.

He opened his phone, found his son on WeChat, hesitated for a moment, tapped on the red envelope, and typed in the auspicious number "888". At the moment he confirmed sending it, he felt like something was missing. He missed the texture of the red paper, the ritual of handing it over, and the joy his son would have when receiving the envelope.

Zhang Wei, an inconspicuous programmer in a cubicle, has recently found himself a "celebrity." To be precise, a "net god." It all started with a post he made on an anonymous forum ten years ago. Several hundred words, it accurately predicted every program of this year's Spring Festival Gala, from the opening dance to the midnight chimes, even including a celebrity's lip-syncing being exposed by the audience.

On New Year's Eve, Xiaoming's family sat in front of the television, not to watch the Spring Festival Gala, but to wait for a phone call.

Old Li is the owner of a community print shop. Before the Spring Festival, he introduced a machine called the "New Year Greeting Slogan Generator." This thing wasn't large, looking like an oversized calculator, with the words "New Year Blessings, One-Click Generation" flashing on the screen. Old Li didn't expect to get rich from it; he just wanted something novel to bring some fun to the neighborhood.

On the first day, customers flocked in. Someone asked for "newlywed blessings," and the machine spat out, "Wishing you a son soon, two children in three years." Someone wanted "auspicious words for the Year of the Snake," and the machine replied, "May the Year of the Snake bring you great fortune, dominate your area, and be flooded with wealth!" People found it novel and readily paid for it, seeking good luck. Old Li happily collected the money, thinking that this machine was quite fun, at least better than his old, outdated printer.

Old Li's biggest hobby after retiring was playing Chinese chess with his old buddies in the community pavilion. Today, however, he seemed a bit absent-minded.

"Old Li, you're playing chess like you've lost your soul." Old Wang pushed up his reading glasses, staring at Old Li's lonely "cannon" on the chessboard.

After Lao Wang retired, his life was like a lukewarm glass of plain water. It wasn't until he received a "Spring Festival Gala Cloud Participant Certificate" on Taobao that a drop of ink was added to this plain water.

The electronic certificate had an exaggerated gold background, with the large characters "Cloud Participation" in the center. Next to it was a serious-looking logo of the "CCTV Spring Festival Gala," and below it was a string of numerical codes that Lao Wang himself didn't understand. Lao Wang knew, of course, that it was just a marketing gimmick from the merchant. But looking at the glittering gold "participant certificate" on his phone screen, he felt a strange surge of excitement, as if he had truly become a part of the Spring Festival Gala.