What Is The Fastest Way To Replace Text In Vim?

My cousin forgot to log out of her messaging app on my laptop. I was helping her sign out when a notification from a group chat popped up on the screen. “We’re having family dinner tonight to celebrate Lucas improving his exam scores.” Out of curiosity, I clicked into the chat. There were only four people in the group. My dad, my mom, my brother, and my cousin. Then my brother replied, “Just the four of us. Don’t invite Freya. She’s always so petty. She even fights with Emma over an apple.” I froze. That was when I realized I was the outsider in my own family.

The day my parents brought home an AI daughter, I lost my place in the family. Maddison Matthews was flawless. Gentle, intelligent, and obedient, she was the perfect daughter. Overnight, I became the problem child. Dad stopped hiding his disappointment. Mom compared me to Maddison in everything I did. Even my brother, Bailey, treated me like an embarrassment. "What else do you know how to do besides throwing tantrums and fighting for attention?" The day I finally snapped and shoved Maddison, Mom slapped me so hard my ears rang. "If you were even half as mature as Maddie, I wouldn’t be so exhausted every single day! Go to the Intelligent Excellence Academy and learn properly how to be an obedient daughter!" Then she sent me away. I was forced into a three-year exchange program at the Intelligent Excellence Academy, a place designed to train human children alongside advanced AI models. Three years later, my family finally came to bring me home. They called my name again and again, but I never answered. The director smiled calmly beside them. "Mrs. Matthews," he said softly, "you’ll need to say ‘Power On’. Unit 1314 no longer responds to human names."

The whole school knew I was Derek Hardy's doormat—his loyal little puppy, always trailing behind him no matter what. But no matter how much he looked down on me, brushed me off, or treated me like I didn't matter, I never left his side. Until a basketball game, when Derek took a scratch to the face. I frowned, got to my feet, and muttered under my breath, "Took me forever to find a decent replacement. What a waste."

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

As I lean into the arms of my sexy gym trainer, I randomly come across a forum post that displays my home's coordinates in its IP address. "Everyone, what should I do if I've accidentally ruined my boss' husband's luxurious custom-fitted suit when I was washing it earlier? I'm just an assistant, so there's no way I can afford to pay for it!" At first glance, I can tell that the post is made by Archie Carter, the personal assistant of Valerie Henderson, whom I've married via a marriage alliance. Someone leaves a scathing comment in the post. "What else can you do? Cough up the payment, of course! What's the point in making this post?" "You call yourself an assistant when in reality, you're nothing but a pretentious phony! You think you can get away with making mistakes just by crying about how poor you are?" Archie quickly replies, "I wanted to compensate for the damages, but when Ms. Henderson found out about it, she already made me 'compensate' using other methods. I used the whole night to pay the price, you know!" One can only imagine how wild the night could have been for Valerie and Archie. I just laugh before sharing the post to my admirers' group chat. "Whoever can knock off Henderson Group's stock price by five points gets to replace that useless wife of mine."

I was in the office bathroom stall when I heard them trash-talking me. The intern I'd trained for three months whined, "She's a heartless witch—like a robot with zero brain cells." I was about to swing the door open when another voice jumped in, laughing. "Documents incomplete." "Receipts don't match." "No signature? Denied." "Seriously, we've all memorized the freaking rulebot's script!" Once they were gone, I headed back to my desk. The intern stormed in and slammed a fat stack of reimbursement forms in front of me. "Don't go on another power trip and block everyone's claims." I skimmed the obviously fake receipts. Normally, I'd tear into her. But this time, I just smiled. "My head's killing me. Can't read the fine print."