Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert—and a man who once took it upon himself to call me some pretty shittty names—died yesterday from what’s being called turbo cancer. He was wrong about vaccines. He was wrong about trusting Big Pharma. And he paid the ultimate price.
Anger, bitterness, and meanness rarely help outcomes. Ego least of all.
Adams claimed to have repented at the end, and for that I am genuinely glad. Mercy matters. Still, if I’m being honest—and it’s hard not to be, given how despicably he treated me—I wasn’t overwhelmed by the depth of his remorse or sincerity. I hope God was in a good mood for the dude.
If you missed my particular run-in with Scott Adams, here’s the essential context. The original tweet that set him off read:
“Dude. If you were independently following the data, this was 100% clear. But I am really glad you are coming around. Now help us get ‘Nuremberg2’ going. Heads must roll. (I am speaking metaphorically. Mostly.)”
That word—dude.
That “dude,” paired with the assertion that some of us did figure it out. That some of us did know. That some of us did keep questioning even as dissent was erased, reputations were destroyed, and silence was enforced.
No, we didn’t “luck out,” as Adams later claimed. We stayed skeptical. We stayed discerning. In my case, I had already been harmed enough by the state to know better than to trust it—especially when fear is deliberately manufactured to control behavior.
Scott Adams fell for it. He fell for the snake-oil promises of the Gods of Science, for the madmen in lab coats selling certainty in exchange for obedience. A trope so old it has a name—mad scientism—yet suddenly scrubbed from cultural memory through coordinated censorship. Poof. Gone.
The “dude” was perceived as an attack. Adams was accustomed to being the smartest guy in the room. In this case, the room was the internet—and his ego could not tolerate the idea that others had made better decisions than he had. He’d been outsmarted. And tragically, he learned too late that the government does not care about you.
It’s a shell game. An attention Ponzi scheme. The next policy always benefits the few at the expense of the many. From cannon fodder to collateral damage to Covid lab leak — the words evolve, but the human cost is always the point.
He learned that too late.
And it cost him his life.
What still bothers me about the Scott Adams saga isn’t the disagreement—it’s this:
First, famous men shouldn’t speak to women they don’t know with casual cruelty. Calling a woman asking for your help a cunt is gross. It’s unmanly. He was wrong.
Second, instead of using his massive platform to help the health-freedom movement, he blocked me.
Third, he devoted airtime to debating whether “dude” was sexist. The internet answered: Nah, dude. He still didn’t unblock me.
Fourth, he could have—should have—become the world’s most powerful antivaccine advocate. Maybe he did. I wouldn’t know. He blocked me.
As I write this now, what I feel most is compassion. Scott Adams may yet become the poster child for vaccine injury in whatever public reckoning–Nuremberg 2 with Fauci in the hot seat? Fingers crossed–eventually arrives. He would hate that. But he would also love being remembered.
And somehow, that feels fitting.
Dude.
Read more…
Dilbert’s Creator Goes Bananas on Little Ole Me…