In a stunning display of loyalty and executive muscle, the Trump Administration has mobilized to aid Scott Adams, the Dilbert creator battling metastatic prostate cancer that has spread to his bones, granting him just months to live as of his May 2025 diagnosis. Adams, a vocal Trump supporter who predicted his 2016 victory and now faces agonizing daily pain requiring a walker, publicly pleaded for intervention on November 2, 2025, via X, citing bureaucratic delays from Kaiser Permanente in scheduling his Pluvicto infusion—a targeted radiotherapy drug FDA-approved for advanced cases that could extend his life. President Trump swiftly responded “On it!” on Truth Social, while Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. followed up, “The President wants to help,” and by November 3, Adams confirmed his treatment was underway for the next day, crediting calls from Trump Jr., Kennedy, and CMS head Dr. Mehmet Oz for cutting through the red tape. This echoes Trump’s first-term Right to Try Act, which fast-tracks experimental treatments for the terminally ill, positioning Adams’ case as a high-profile win for compassionate conservatism amid his rapid decline.

Yet for many, Adams’ plight elicits a grim schadenfreude, rooted in his pandemic-era pivot from persuasion guru to vaccine evangelist, where he wielded flowcharts to mock the unvaccinated as irrational losers while getting jabbed himself—only to announce his “turbo cancer” diagnosis months after boosters, fueling online glee from those he once ridiculed. X posts brim with savage satisfaction: “He owned the non-vaxxers… now turbo-cancer himself,” or “Anti-vaxxers were right—I got vaxxed & regret it,” as Adams himself conceded in a May 2025 clip, admitting the unjabbed “came out the best” with natural immunity and no long-term regrets. Critics, from Reddit threads to podcasters, revel in the irony of his “long walk to the grave,” viewing his suffering as karmic payback for shaming skeptics who warned of immune suppression, spike protein toxicity, and SV40 contaminants in mRNA shots—claims now amplified by skyrocketing cancer rates post-rollout, with Pfizer’s $43 billion cancer-drug spree smelling like premeditated profit to the vax-injured. It’s a dark spectacle: the man who branded doubters as conspiracy nuts now embodies their vindication, his daily streams a morbid voyeur’s delight as listeners tune in for the terminal countdown.

Compounding the backlash, Adams’ eclectic worldview—once a quirky blend of hypnosis and office satire—has curdled into a buffet of establishment ass-kissing that alienates even his MAGA base: he swallowed Jeffrey Epstein’s “suicide” hook, line, and sinker in 2019 podcasts, scoffing at guard lapses as mere incompetence rather than a Clinton-orchestrated hit, despite Acosta’s infamous “intelligence asset” wink. On trans issues, he bizarrely greenlit biological males dominating women’s sports post-transition, arguing legal gender trumps biology in a 2019 stream, dismissing inherent advantages as “inspirational” while ignoring the erasure of female achievements— a stance that reeks of the very relativism he once lampooned. And topping the hypocrisy sundae? His eight-year Obama man-crush, fawning over the “Kenyan” as operating “at another level” with hypnotic charisma in books like Win Bigly, before flipping to the same sycophantic script for Trump—proving his “persuasion” schtick is just bootlicking with a thesaurus. Now, as his audience swells for the deathbed dirge, it’s less admiration than rubbernecking: a fallen icon’s final laps, broadcast live, where every hot take feels like a confession from the edge.