A short tribute to Scott Adams
On Monday, I will ask President Trump, via X, to help save my life. He offered to help me if I needed it.
I need it.
As many of you know, I have metastasized prostate cancer.
My healthcare provider, Kaiser of Northern California, has approved my application to receive a…
— Scott Adams (@ScottAdamsSays) November 2, 2025
I think back to the people we lost over the past 10 years: Herman Cain, Rush Limbaugh, and Charlie Kirk. The journey of ‘MAGA’ is also of sadness as it of celebration. Their loss leaves a void, our memories frozen in time the moment of their departure. Like Rush’s EIB studio on his last livestreamed episode. Or Charlie Kirk’s last Twitter post.
Five or so years ago, forgot exactly when, Scott gave a tour of his palatial Southern California valley home. In his cavernous living room, the final stop of his tour, was his easel , but he used an enormous digital tablet instead of paper and pen to draw.
And soon that too will be left how he last left it, whether was the last cartoon he was working on. I didn’t want to believe he was dying. It’s not that he was lying, but that he would somehow escape death. His plea for help, which Trump answered popped that bubble.
I have wondered, does death exist if we don’t choose to acknowledge it? Can he leave where he left off, his absence like a vacant chair at the dining table in the expectation of his return, than to give up hope. But as his above tweet showed, his imminent death is very real. And ‘AGI’, ‘the simulation’, or ‘mind uploading’ is not going to save ‘us’ in time either. We will all leave where we left off.