INT. JERRY'S APARTMENT—DAY
ELAINE and JERRY are standing around JERRY'S kitchen counter. GEORGE is sitting on the couch typing on a laptop.
JERRY: Again with the Twitter?
GEORGE: What? I can't tweet?
ELAINE: No one said you can't tweet.
GEORGE: Jerry did. Jerry's got a problem with my tweeting.
JERRY: Please, tweet away. Tweet all you want. Tweet your heart out.
GEORGE: I will. I enjoy a good tweet.
ELAINE: Fine, but don't you think it's a bit much with the tweets?
GEORGE: Who are you? The queen of tweets? I think I tweet the perfect amount.
JERRY: You know, you've got to have something to tweet about in order to tweet.
GEORGE: I got plenty to tweet about, baby!
JERRY: No, no you don't. You see, you have the Twitter account and the laptop. But you don't have anything worthwhile to tweet about. No job, no girlfriend, no …
KRAMER enters, nearly knocking over JERRY as he stumbles into the living room.
KRAMER: Giddyup. (Notices George.) What's with Poindexter on the laptop?
ELAINE: He's tweeting again.
KRAMER: My God! You're tweeting all over the place!
GEORGE: I tweet just as often as the next guy. No one stops George Costanza from tweeting!
KRAMER: I ever tell you about my friend Bob Sacamano? Tweeted way too much. (Getting animated.) Tweeted like there was no tomorrow!
KRAMER: (high-pitched) He's dead.
ELAINE: Death by Twitter?
KRAMER: You said it, sister.
JERRY: What's the deal with that 140-character limit, anyway? Like if it was 141, the Internet would break?
GEORGE: Ooh, that's good. Can I tweet that?
LAUGHTER. APPLAUSE. END SCENE.