Scott Adams thinks That Hillary Clinton has it in for him. He’s more right than he knows.

If you are reading this, I am most likely dead, or alive. My body is probably lying across the rails of a train track, my head crushed by the southbound Acela Express to disguise the blunt force trauma delivered by a DNC wet-ops specialist, or just as likely I am completely unharmed and sitting in my living room eating Sriracha flavored vegetable crisps while watching Black Mirror.

This is the unpredictable life of a Paid Hillary Operative.

Recently Scott Adams—cartoonist, entrepreneur, genius—twigged to the fact that the Hillary Clinton campaign has been running a blackshadow operation against him in collusion with Twitter, Salon, HuffPo—all the usual Clinton media cutouts—and meant to discredit him in the eyes of his followers. His crime: openly declaring his support for Donald Trump.

Now that Adams has unveiled this conspiracy to the world, many consider him to be a madman, or else some sort of transparent attention seeker looking to capitalize on an unexpected blip in in his public profile. But Scott is neither of these. He is, in fact, the most dangerous man in America, and I should know. I was paid $25,000 in Bitcoins to write a blog post defaming him, and to then post links to that blog on every Internet forum and comments section I could think of.

But I’ve finally had enough. The clear glass of Adams’ political perspective does not deserve to be fogged by the Sriracha-scented breath of spooks like myself, only to then have the words “THIS GUY IS STARTING TO SOUND LIKE A REAL NUTTER” written across it. I have returned the money, and informed my superiors of my intention to break cover.

For my courage, for my decision to cross the most evil woman ever to wear a Maxi Pad, I am most likely now a wet stain somewhere, or else sitting at home eyeing the bowl of fun-sized Baby Ruth’s that I really should be saving for the Trick-or-Treaters. 

The reason I cannot be sure of my fate is that I cannot be entirely sure that I really am a Paid Hillary Operative.

The Recruitment

Like everyone else in America, I have my political opinions. And, like everyone else in America, I occasionally troll a message board with those opinions. Where Donald Trump is concerned I can be very loquacious, and in my past year of commentary my writing has been as fecund as Stephen King’s.

Go to any right wing forum and condemn Donald Trump using more than ten words and inevitably a Trump sympathizer will ask: “How much is Hillary paying you??” I never paid attention to to these absurd and pathetic ripostes. But around June of this year my bank statements began to show strange deposits made from organizations with names like Podesta Mattress Importers and Wasserman, Schultz & Payola. It turned out that I could now actually answer my accusers’ questions.

How much was Hillary paying me? Apparently $150.00 per post.

My contract with the Hillary campaign was entirely unsolicited and perfectly silent. The more criticisms I made of Donald Trump on Breitbart or The Blaze, the more money would appear in my bank account. I had no handler and no brief, but any online critique I posted about Donald Trump, no matter how mild, would mean hundreds of dollars in my pocket less than 24 hours later.

It was a sweet gig. The fact that I was a registered Green and a Bernie donor didn’t seem to matter at all. The Clinton campaign (and I still have no hard proof it was them, mind you) is just that wealthy and just that invested in paid trolling as political warfare.

For all my employers’ skullduggery, I was still pleased to be a compensated partner in the takedown of Donald Trump, something I would happily have done for free.

Then came the phone call.

The Phone Call

A few days ago I was at home working on an anti-Trump meme that I planned to post to 4Chan: Donald Trump dressed as a princess kissing Pepe the Frog. Not my best work, but I noticed that Pepe and the alt-right were on Hillary’s radar and I was angling for a bonus. Then my phone rang.

“Stop working on Pepe,” a voice that I cannot prove was Donna Brazile speaking into a water tumbler told me. “You’ve got a new assignment.”

How did they know?

I thought about the cameras, in my Apple devices, my PlayStation… How could they not?

“Stop working on Pepe,” a voice that I cannot prove was Donna Brazile speaking into a water tumbler told me. “You’ve got a new assignment.”

 “Do you read Dilbert?” the voice asked

As any red-blooded American under sixty would have, I answered “No.”

“Well, buy a treasury and bone up. Scott Adams just made the list. He called Hillary Clinton a ‘bully’, and his message has raised a flag in the Clinton campaign machinery. Time to go to work.”

I will admit now that I did not put up the fight I ought to have, but neither did I quickly seize what was being proffered. I could smell a dirty tricks campaign in the works, one directed against my fellow cartoonist, one sleazier than when Hillary had sent people in Planned Parenthood T-shirts to Trump rallies in the hopes that his even-tempered supporters would overreact.

“Look,” I said, “Scott Adams seems like a sensible guy with an incisive viewpoint. Why make him a target?”

The voice hissed, literally. Like a cat. “Pay close attention,” it said.

“Scott Adams has 86,000 followers on Twitter. 86,000 people aged 60 or older! Do you know that the elderly vote in higher rates than any other demographic? Do you realize that Florida is still in play??”

I saw the logic, and I saw a hangman’s noose being slipped around Scott’s neck.

“We tried shadowbanning him on Twitter. Don’t ask why we didn’t use our omnipotent power to shadowban Trump…HRC’s call. Anyway, it didn’t take. Our Twitter strategy has shifted. Now we are having people mass tweet that Dilbert isn’t funny, and that Scott Adams is crazy.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Who would ever believe either claim?

“Those attacks seem awfully specific. Don’t you think Scott will notice that nobody is tweeting 144 character hit pieces on his literary masterpiece God’s Debris?”

“Doesn’t matter. This is only Phase One, the tap on the shoulder. When he turns his head, Phase Two hits him square in the jaw.”

“’Phase Two’? That could only mean… Salon and The Huffington Post and Daily Kos all reporting at once that Scott Adams sounds like some sort of asshole!”

Behind the water tumbler, I’m sure the owner of the voice was smiling. “Now you see why we’ve been paying you so well. You see the big picture. You see that a national presidential campaign’s most obvious path to victory is calling in favors to make sure that a mildly popular blogger gets as much bad press as possible the day after he says publicly that he might assassinate the winner of the election. Then, when he starts ranting like Alex Jones on a meth bender that the next President of the United States is using all her campaign machinery to target him personally, and his followers start to flee in the tens of thousands, Florida falls into the Clinton column. It’s sort of like…”

“Wearing a Planned Parenthood T-shirt to a Trump Rally,” I said with a shudder.

“And now you know how the sausage is made,” the voice said. “”And you didn’t even have to wait for that prick Assange to leak it in an e-mail.”

Coming In Out of the Cold

My contact told me that I was to be part of Phase Three, the mop up, the last little digs to help spread the word that an American hero was turning as bughsit as Gene Hackman at the end of The Conversation. The bitcoins arrived disguised as in-game store credit in my Plants vs. Zombies app.

But I refuse to play this game any longer (the defamation game, not Plants vs. Zombies). I’m hanging up my cloak and dagger and choosing sides.

Some will look at what Scott Adams is writing in these waning days of the most hateful political campaign in American history as the ravings of a self-important crank with a one-size-fits-all political philosophy, and some fewer might see Adam’s playing a game of three-dimensional chess, getting under people’s skin while the getting is good and milking the media’s tits for a bit of ego-gratifying attention, all the while pretending to believe things he doesn’t.

But I know the forces arrayed against Scott. I have been their stooge, but no longer. I have not come to bury Scott Adams, but to praise him. So let the words of the Prophet speak for themselves, and those words are:

I Am Scott Adams.

Too many of you are under the sway of the highly convincing bully known as Hillary Clinton, who has ordered Twitter to mess with my head.

Hillary is perpetuating one of the greatest evils in our lifetime: the idea that Trump supporters are pigs. This is untrue.

(Read the audience comments on his campaign manager’s website if you don’t believe me.)

Hillary Clinton is intentionally turning Americans against each other, but Donald Trump’s message is highly unifying.

You do not see this because you are hypnotized.

I will now post this on every Internet forum and comments section I can think of, and fuck the Clinton campaign.

As for Scott Adams, if I am still alive, I am happy to be trolling for you and not against you, brother. Please send your first payment of Bitcoins to my Plants vs. Zombies app at your earliest convenience.
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If you are under 60 but would like to experience Dilbert in a format you will enjoy, why not try reading him Weapon Brown?