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His laptop’s fan, usually a quiet whisper, began to roar like a leaf blower. The screen flickered, and then—impossibly—the video resumed playing, but the scene had changed. He was no longer watching Stephen Chow. He was watching himself.

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He had just finished a tedious day of freelance coding—debugging a client’s e-commerce site that kept crashing at checkout. He needed a reset. He needed something absurd, something kinetic, something that made him laugh until his sides ached. He needed Kung Fu Hustle . His laptop’s fan, usually a quiet whisper, began

From a low-angle shot, like a security camera. Himself, sitting on the couch, laptop on his lap, mouth slightly open in confusion. The perspective shifted. Now it showed him from behind. Now from the side. His own living room, rendered in the same oversaturated color grade as Kung Fu Hustle . He was watching himself

His cursor finger itched. He clicked.