51 posts tagged with "satire"

"Congratulations, you've won 1 million!" Lottery station owner Old Wang's voice was loud, buzzing in Grandpa Li's ears. The rows of red numbers on the scratch-off ticket in Grandpa Li's hand seemed to be dancing, flashing dazzling light.

Grandpa Li was a retired teacher who had dedicated his life to teaching and educating people, accustomed to a life of modest means. One million? He never thought he would have anything to do with such a large number in his life. He trembled as he held the lottery ticket, his palms drenched in sweat.

"Welcome to the Spring Dodging Agency, what level of spring dodging service do you require?" The receptionist's voice was unnaturally sweet, as if it had been modified by AI.

I looked around, this so-called "agency" was more like a finely decorated coffee shop, except that the walls were covered with different styles of "spring dodging kits," ranging from simple plastic raincoats to fully enclosed space capsules, with price tags that were staggering.

The alarm clock shrieked, dragging Lao Wang out of his dream. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he glanced at the electronic calendar on his bedside table – the fifth day of the Lunar New Year. Today, he was destined not to sleep in for even a minute, as he was a deliveryman, and his task for the day was to deliver "Fortune Gods."

Old Zhang is a security guard at the Leifeng Pagoda scenic spot. He's been working here for twenty years and has heard countless legends about the White Snake Lady.

The stage lights dimmed, and the music abruptly stopped. The entire audience erupted in thunderous applause, surging like a tide. Spotlights illuminated again, focusing on the group of perfectly synchronized robots in the center of the stage. They had just completed an astonishing dance, with fluid movements and precise timing, as if they possessed human emotions.

Zhang Qiang stood backstage, a tired smile on his face. He was responsible for the maintenance and control of these robots. This was his third consecutive year participating in the Spring Festival Gala production, witnessing the progress of technology and the indifference of human emotions each year. This year, his team had spent countless days and nights just for this few minutes of perfect presentation. He knew it was not just about the company's reputation, but also his belief in technology.

Old Wang was "optimized" again. This was the third time he received a termination notice from the artificial intelligence "Deep Blue." The first two times, he managed to find new jobs with his years of experience and a bit of "human touch," but this time, the entire industry was crushed by "Deep Blue's" algorithms, and the demand for human labor had almost dropped to freezing point.

"Deep Blue's" efficiency was too high, the code was written fast and well, and bugs were almost non-existent. Bosses no longer needed human programmers who made mistakes, slacked off, or took time off. Old Wang couldn't understand why, after working hard, burning the midnight oil, and nearly losing all his hair, he was being eliminated by a cold, unfeeling program.

Old Li walked into the company building. Today, his task was to experience the "DeepSeek" company's latest "Efficient Memory Implant" technology. In this day and age, competition has gotten so fierce that it's reached our brains. Whoever has the larger memory capacity is more competitive. Old Li, who barely got by relying on rote memorization, had long been swept aside by the younger generation. He was adopting a "last-ditch effort" mentality, hoping to get out of his predicament with this technology.

"Don't be nervous, Mr. Li," a young man in a white coat said with a smile, placing a helmet-like device on Old Li's head. "This is just a simple memory writing process, and there will be no side effects. We will implant all the content of all the company's important meetings in the past year into your cerebral cortex."

After Old Li retired, the only pleasure in his life was to turn on the radio at exactly 7:30 every morning to listen to the familiar "News and Newspaper Digest" segment. Since his wife passed away, this had become one of the few "rituals" in his life. But today was different. Instead of news, the radio was looping a voice prompt saying, "Congratulations, you have successfully received the 2025 Spring Festival Gala Cloud Performance Certificate! Please join billions of viewers on New Year's Eve..."

Old Li was stunned for a moment, thinking: what the heck is this? He clearly hadn't clicked on any "Cloud Performance Certificate" on Taobao. Are scammers so up-to-date these days? He opened his phone and found a digital voucher on the Taobao app, stating "2025 Spring Festival Gala Cloud Performance Certificate," also printed with his name and ID number. Old Li didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This must be some marketing gimmick by a merchant, treating an old man like him as a sucker.

After retiring, Old Li's greatest pleasure was to play a couple of games at the park's chess stall every afternoon. He called himself a "chess fanatic" with fifty years of experience, proficient in various chess principles, and boasted that he could play chess with "flowing moves, containing profound mysteries." Old Li often said: Go is like life, basic moves, brilliant moves, and common moves are all choices.

There was a young chess player in the park, whom everyone called "Little Ma". Little Ma had a strange style of play, not following conventions, often making seemingly "common moves," but often winning unexpectedly. Old Li disliked Little Ma's style, feeling he was defiling the "elegance" of Go.

Secretary-General Wang of the Chinese Weiqi Association had been very irritable lately. The controversy surrounding the LG Cup final was raging, and the matter between Ke Jie and Byun Sang-il was dominating the headlines of major media outlets every day.

His superiors were urging him to make a statement, the public was waiting for an explanation, and his phone was ringing off the hook every day. But the problem was, how should this statement be written? Who should be said to be right or wrong? Would writing it offend anyone?