Scene: A small, dingy medieval tavern. A group of over-zealous, robed tech monks sit around a round table. They’re chanting in low voices while one monk, Brother Jenkins, dramatically holds a Vim manual above his head, swaying slightly as if in religious ecstasy. The door bursts open, and in strolls Larry, who is clearly not impressed.
Brother Jenkins: (reverently) “The Vim editor, a joy untold... A tool of efficiency that never grows old...”
Monks: (chanting in unison) “Never grows old... never grows old...”
Larry: (gruffly) “Oh, for crying out loud, what is this nonsense?”
Brother Jenkins: (gasping) “Silence, heretic! You stand in the sacred halls of Vim!”
Monks: “Vim! Vim! All hail the holy keystrokes!”
Larry: (rolls eyes) “What are you lot on about?”
Brother Jenkins: “We sing the praises of Vim! The most holy and efficient of text editors!” (his eyes widen) “Have you not experienced the ecstasy of typing without a mouse?!”
Larry: (sarcastically) “Oh, yeah, sounds riveting. What’s next? You’ll be tellin’ me how to exit it”.
Monks: (suddenly panicked, whispering) “He said the cursed words... the forbidden riddle...”
Brother Jenkins: (hisses) “No one speaks of… of exiting Vim!”
Larry: (smirks) “Oh, so none of you knows how to, eh? Thought so.”
Brother Jenkins: (rising dramatically) “Exiting Vim is not a mere mortal task! Only those of us who have transcended...” (he holds up a complicated sequence of keystrokes) “...may know the way. But first, you must learn the sacred arts of... file navigation!”
Larry: (laughs) “Look, mate, all I want is to write a simple shopping list, not decode an ancient prophecy.”
Brother Jenkins: (suddenly grave) “You wish to write? With Vim? Then you must ascend through its infinite layers of power. You must face... the syntax demon!”
(A hooded monk dramatically approaches from the shadows, clutching a scroll covered in symbols.)
Syntax Demon: (in a dark, raspy voice) “Oooooh, the indentation is wrong, mortal! You have missed... a semicolon!”
Larry: (sarcastic) “Oh no! Whatever shall I do without my semicolon? The world shall collapse!”
Syntax Demon: (cackles maniacally) “Collapse? Collapse? No, fool! Your code will not run! You shall be lost in an endless loop, forever cursed to press escape only to find yourself... still inside Vim!”
Larry: (shrugs) “Could be worse. I could be stuck using Emacs.”
(The monks gasp in horror. One faints. A pigeon outside the window bursts into flames.)
Brother Jenkins: (fiercely) “Blasphemy! You speak of the cursed editor of the weak-willed! One who desires only buttons and menus!”
Monks: “Burn the heretic! Burn the heretic!”
Larry: (rolling his eyes) “Oh, come on. What’s so magical about this Vim thing anyway? You all bang on about it like it’s some kind of divine miracle.”
Brother Jenkins: (dramatically) “A miracle indeed! For with keystrokes alone, you shall summon... the Plugins!”
(Suddenly, a flurry of random plugins materialize from the air: an automatic bread slicer, a hovercraft, and a tiny man with a mustache, all clearly useless.)
Brother Jenkins: (with glee) “See how they expand the power of Vim? The hovercraft plugin lets you... err... well, it doesn’t actually hover, but the concept is divine!”
Larry: (raising an eyebrow) “And the bread slicer?”
Brother Jenkins: (awkwardly) “It's a beta feature.”
Larry: (folding arms) “Right. And what about posting to Hive? I hear people are doing that too with this thing.”
Brother Jenkins: (dramatically) “Yes! With Vim, you can post to Hive — a task of such magnitude and complexity that only the truly enlightened may attempt it.” (leans in) “Have you ever imagined... posting an article... with only keystrokes?”
Larry: (deadpan) “Yeah, it sounds like a right thrill. Almost as exciting as watching a paint-drying plugin.”
Brother Jenkins: (gritting his teeth)“ You do not understand! Vim is not just an editor... it is a lifestyle. It is freedom from... from... menus! Mice! The tyranny of user-friendly interfaces!” (pauses) “And don't even get me started on undo trees.”
Larry: (faking enthusiasm) “Oh wow, undo trees? Fascinating.” (yawns) “And here I thought this was all nonsense.”
(Suddenly, the door bursts open. In walks a bureaucrat with a briefcase.)
Bureaucrat: (blandly) “Right then, I need all of you to sign this form 47-B. We're terminating all overly dramatic editor-based cults. Can't have you chanting about syntax in pubs anymore. Health and safety, you see.”
Brother Jenkins: (horrified) “No! Vim shall never be suppressed! We must —” (pauses) “Wait... where do I sign?”
Bureaucrat: (without looking up) “Press escape, colon, w, q. Or just use nano like a normal person.”
(The monks scream in terror as the skit ends with them collapsing into chaos, papers flying, and Larry smugly walking out. Fade to black.)
