In cubicles where cubicle spirits groan,
A satirist of office life has flown.
Scott’s pen now rests — his yarns of bosses done,
His 3-panel omens fade with setting sun.
“A great silence falls over the rows of grey walls, where the coffee is cold and the tie curls upward toward the heavens. I see the inkwell running dry, not from a lack of wit, but because the Great Architect of the Cubicle has been summoned to a meeting in a higher dimension—one where there are no middle managers and the printers never jam.
The stars suggest his departure will spark a grand digital archiving; his legacy will be woven into the very code of the internet, becoming a ghost in the machine that haunts every corporate ‘synergy’ meeting yet to come. Though the pen is laid down, the laughter he drew from the mundane will echo in the breakrooms of eternity. The Nine Lives of the Dilbert spirit shall find a new home in the cloud, watched over by a cat with silver fur and a purple gaze.”
