NORMAN BATES: Mother, I’m leaving Twitter.
NORMAN’S MOM: (sighs) And where will you go, Norman? Where will you go?
NORMAN: This is all your fault. Just like with the highway.
MOM: They’re going to drain the swamp, and they’re going to find every single one of those cars, Norman.
NORMAN: All we wanted was an edit button.
MOM: They’re going to find the cars. They’re going to know they’re not self-driving, and they’re going to know someone put them there.
NORMAN: You didn’t even want to front the money for those EV charging stations.
His mom laughs.
NORMAN: There are plenty of places to go.
MOM: Go then.
NORMAN: Artificial intelligence is not a pipedream. Why didn’t you let me go out for Robotics Club?
MOM: How many followers do you even have?
MOM: I’m not talking about bots, Norman. I’m talking about real people.
NORMAN: I have two accounts.
MOM: @Motel_Vacancies is mine. You stole that from me.
NORMAN: What about my personal account?
MOM: Who even follows your personal account?
NORMAN: There’s the girl and those copycats.
MOM: Criminals don’t count. And neither do insurance investigators or people looking for lost siblings.
NORMAN: There’s Cormac McCarthy.
NORMAN: Well, I don’t get to pick who follows me.
MOM: You’re not even number one—you’re @Norman_Bates25.
NORMAN: I went with my age.
MOM: Well, how old are you now? Pushing forty I’d say.
NORMAN: I could go to Mastodon.
MOM: You could go to Mastodon. Good luck finding a community of taxidermists. No one else remembers Dinner for Schmucks.
NORMAN: You remember it.
MOM: There’s never going to be an edit button, Norman.
NORMAN: I have an interest in physics.
MOM: You have an interest in peepholes.
NORMAN: Black holes—Mother! I have an interest in black holes and event horizons.
MOM: Well, find out what happens, Norman. Go ahead. Pull. The. Plug.
NORMAN: I could start a Substack.
MOM: Do you even know how Substack works?
NORMAN: I’m sure I can figure it out.
MOM: I bet you could.
NORMAN: Start small and figure it out.
MOM: Who’s going to subscribe, Norman? You have to pay to play.
NORMAN: You know who you sound like—don’t make me say his name!
MOM: Is it the eight dollars a month that’s troubling you? You know it costs as much as a latte.
NORMAN: I don’t need to be verified, Mother.
MOM: Maybe you should do some verifying with that guestbook of yours.
NORMAN: I’ve got that handled.
MOM: I’m sure you do.
NORMAN: That’s all right, Mother. I’m here for the Discourse.
MOM: You’re a reply guy.
MOM: And why would anyone want to hear your thoughts on the Jeffrey Dahmer Netflix show?
NORMAN: You can’t do that.
MOM: What, I can’t point out your hypocrisies? I’m your mother.
NORMAN: You don’t have to dig them up every time we talk.
MOM: I told you to quit stuffing birds, but that didn’t prevent you from going on Twitter in the first place.
NORMAN: I just don’t have the appetite for it anymore.
MOM: If you start something, you should finish it. I’ve always said that.
NORMAN: I was lonely.
MOM: We’re all lonely, Norman.
NORMAN: Maybe I could start a YouTube channel about what I want from the Batman franchise.
MOM: You going to kill the mom and dad again, Norman?
NORMAN: I’m not stunted—I’ve got new ideas.
MOM: I’m sure you do, little joker, you.
NORMAN: I do. I really do.
MOM: Origin stories are always so blasé. Maybe put your mind to something of serious merit.
NORMAN: What about Harry Potter? I could talk about the importance of having male mentors and being the protagonist in your own timeline.
MOM: I told you it takes a lot more than sitting by a window or under a staircase these days to get a person noticed.
MOM: Adjust your monitor, Norman.
NORMAN: Is this really the only answer?
MOM: You yourself said the highway moved—
NORMAN: But has it really come to this?
MOM: —so I started an OnlyFans account.
NORMAN: Dear Oedipus and Jocasta.
MOM: We can’t all be J. K. Rowling. Some of us are drafted by Sophocles.
NORMAN: This isn’t fair, Mother.
MOM: Who said anything about fair?
NORMAN: I don’t understand.
MOM: It’s free speech, Norman.
NORMAN: There has to be a better way.
MOM: Buzz off or enjoy the peeping.