Dread Scott Adams Shoots Himself.
Dread Scott Adams
Took a gun,
To give his career a shot,
Plus forty-one.
And when Dread Scott
Felt Dilbert wasn’t red, white and true —
He gave his creation,
Forty-two.
“White Power,” said he,
“Give me a Q.”
That’s too Queer!
Will 4chan Nazis do?
Always separate, NEVER Equal,
Dread Scott said.
Mixing colors?
“You outta your head?”
“Right, so right,”
Elon Musk cheered.
“I know Apartheid
And you’ve got it here!”
“Black people are a hate group,”
Dread Scott Adams said,
Forgetting who kept whom in chains,
And whipped and hung them dead.
But he’d been fact-phobic before,
This cartoon of a troll;
Like when he questioned if 6 million,
Was the true Holocaust death toll.
A hypnotist by hobby,
A COVID cure-kook by dark;
Dread Scott Adams made millions off
His culture war of snark.
“It’s OK to be hateful,”
Dread Scott Adams said, certain he was right.
“And, I’m Trumpy-enough to believe,
“It’s OK to be brain-dead blight.”
So, Dread Scott Adams ran away,
From cities much too dark,
To “get the hell away from Blacks,”
And, sharpen his biased bark.
He found a pleasant little town,
A thousand miles from home,
Where Blacks were no where to be found,
And Whites were free to roam.
Yet, Dread Scott Adams
Could not flee the demons in his mind,
To kill them he entranced himself,
And made his vision, blind.
