Author: the Dictator

November 7, 2026 | A follow-up from the digestive tract of seriality

Well, Mississippi, I have some good news.

My Cologuard test came back NEGATIVE!

That’s right. After weeks of preparation, an oversized specimen, a rejected shipment, a closed UPS Store, and a statewide political race that somehow managed to involve my colon, we finally have a result.

My colorectal cancer screening came back negative.

And Scott Colom and Cindy Hyde-Smith? They’re still waiting for theirs.

Apparently, my digestive system has a more efficient reporting process than Mississippi’s election system.

One Letter Makes All the Difference

In my previous article, I explained how Scott Colom’s name caught my attention while I was trying to complete my Cologuard screening.

Here’s the symmetry again:

COLOM → COLON

All you have to do is change the final M to an N. And what comes after M in the alphabet? N.

Mississippi starts with M. So do money, medicine, margins, and a few other things I’ve spent years investigating.

Now consider that a colon is also a punctuation mark consisting of two dots stacked vertically. One above the other. Two points waiting for whatever comes next.

Rather appropriate for an election in which the entire state is waiting for the next batch of numbers.

I don’t claim these linguistic coincidences determine reality. But they certainly provide interesting material for my ongoing study of seriality. And excellent material for bathroom humor.

Mississippi Swells, and Cindy Waits

I’ve previously connected this election to the song Mississippi Swells by Nana Grizol, which includes a reference to someone named Cindy.

That Cindy isn’t Senator Hyde-Smith, of course. The association is simply another coincidence that caught my attention.

But as Mississippi’s remaining ballots make their way through the counting process, the musical reference keeps returning. One might say the suspense is swelling.

As of the latest reported figures available on November 7, Democrat Scott Colom had 467,930 votes, Republican incumbent Cindy Hyde-Smith had 465,356, and independent Ty Pinkins had 20,028.

That put Colom ahead by 2,574 votes in an election that still had no declared winner.

Thousands of ballots remained subject to reporting or eligibility checks, including affidavit ballots. The outcome could change as the remaining votes are counted and certified.

Follow the latest election coverage at WAPT.

My Opinion: Count Everything That Legally Counts

Here’s where I separate the metaphysical comedy from the practical business of democracy.

Every legally valid vote deserves to be counted under consistent rules, whether it was cast for Hyde-Smith, Colom, or Pinkins.

An affidavit ballot isn’t automatically invalid. Election officials have to review the voter’s eligibility.

Mississippi’s counties have until November 13 to submit their certified results, and qualifying mailed absentee ballots may continue arriving through November 10.

That takes time.

My preference is for an accurate, transparent count rather than a premature announcement.

We should be able to distinguish between something that hasn’t been counted yet and something that shouldn’t be counted.

That distinction matters in elections. It also mattered when a medical laboratory rejected my first stool specimen for exceeding its collection requirements.

Although I strongly suspect the laboratory would prefer not to be included in a political analogy.

Read the Associated Press explanation of the counting process.

One Result Is Finally In

A negative Cologuard result is encouraging news. It means the stool-based screening did not detect the combination of findings that would produce a positive result.

It isn’t the same thing as a colonoscopy, and it doesn’t guarantee that colorectal cancer or precancerous growths are absent. I’ll still need to follow the screening schedule recommended by my healthcare provider.

But after everything I went through to submit that sample, I am genuinely relieved.

My specimen was finally processed. The result came back negative.

And the greatest mystery remaining is how I managed to turn a routine colorectal screening into an ongoing commentary on a United States Senate election.

Cologuard’s explanation of test limitations.

The Final Symmetry

In the T Meta Structure, I’ve spent years examining recurring names, numbers, and patterns.

Sometimes they appear in politics. Sometimes they appear in physics. And occasionally, they appear in a cardboard box full of biological evidence.

Two days ago, Mississippi and I were both waiting for results. Today, I have mine. Mississippi still has some counting to do.

My Cologuard: NEGATIVE.

Mississippi Senate race: PENDING.

As for Scott Colom, I’m going to leave the final M exactly where it belongs until the election officials finish their work.

After all, changing one letter is easy. Changing the outcome of an election requires actual votes.

And if there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it’s that you should never underestimate the importance of proper processing.

— Todd

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Transparency: AI-assisted article based on Todd’s personal account, previous writing, and cited reporting. Election figures reflect reporting available November 7, 2026, and are not final certified results. The seriality connections are personal interpretations and wordplay, not claims of demonstrated causation. Final editorial review and fact-checking by Todd.

An Investigation into Septic Tanks, Missing Foxes, Three 23s, Artificial Intelligence, and the Spiritual Art of Not Giving a Shit

By Todd Alan Megee

November 26, 2018: A Presidential Movement

On November 26, 2018, Donald Trump was headed to Biloxi, Mississippi, to hold a political rally.

Meanwhile, over at my house, which I affectionately call Moore Evil, I was dealing with a movement of my own.

A bowel movement.

Well, technically, several years’ worth of them.

At approximately 11:18 that morning, according to the filename of a photograph I took, a truck from Shields Septic Tank Service was parked in my driveway, sucking the accumulated shit out of my property.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had apparently prepared for a presidential visit by raising my Shields.

And here’s where the story gets particularly ridiculous.

You see, I’ve come to think of myself as a Dictator.

Not the politically oppressive variety. I’m a dictator because I dictate my thoughts, write shit down, and spend an unreasonable amount of time trying to figure out what the hell reality is doing.

I don’t rule a country.

I barely rule my own train of thought.

But on that particular November morning, the Dictator of Moore Evil had officially raised his Shields.

And the shit was leaving the premises.

That evening, Trump appeared at the Mississippi Coast Coliseum to campaign for Cindy Hyde-Smith. His visit is documented in contemporaneous Mississippi reporting and the presidential speech record.

One dictator was pumping out a speech.

The other was pumping out a septic tank.

And only one of us had hired professionals to manage the discharge.

To be clear, this is a joke about coinciding events, not a claim that one caused the other.

But seriously. What a load of shit.

Eight Years Later, the Shit Gets Metaphysical

Fast-forward to November 2026.

I am still dictating.

Only now I have artificial intelligence helping me organize the output, which means my personal waste-management infrastructure has evolved considerably.

I’ve gone from a septic tank to ChatGPT.

Both systems process an alarming amount of material.

One handles what comes out of my ass.

The other handles what comes out of my brain.

And occasionally, I suspect the two departments have exchanged personnel.

My interest is the law of seriality, associated with Austrian biologist Paul Kammerer, who investigated remarkable clusters of coincidences.

I have spent years observing how names, dates, events, and words can seem to overlap in unusual ways.

Some coincidences are independently verifiable. Others become meaningful through personal associations.

The difficulty is telling the difference between discovering a pattern and creating one.

Fortunately, I now have AI to help me investigate that distinction.

Unfortunately, the AI occasionally seems to need psychological counseling of its own.

The Fox That Escaped My Camera Roll

That brings me to a former psychiatrist whom I’ll simply call Dr. Fox.

Dr. Fox was someone with whom I felt understood, particularly regarding my experiences of reality.

At one point, I encountered a license plate that my mind interpreted as something resembling:

D-TOX FOX.

Detox Fox.

I remember photographing it.

But when I later tried to locate the photograph, it appeared to have vanished from my collection.

Now, most people would assume they’d lost a photograph.

I considered that possibility too.

But my brain, which apparently has an unlimited subscription to the metaphysical premium package, also entertained the Mandela effect and quantum error correction.

In computer terms, quantum error correction concerns protecting quantum information against errors.

In my imagination, perhaps reality had patched something.

Did I actually witness reality correcting itself?

I have no evidence of that.

What I have is a memory, a missing photograph, and a fox that apparently escaped digital captivity.

And that is where Disney enters the psychiatric evaluation.

The Fox, the Hound, and the Extra D

Remember Disney’s The Fox and the Hound?

The fox is named Tod.

T-O-D.

My name is Todd.

T-O-D-D.

I’ve got an extra D.

Now consider my father’s name, Donal, which resembles Donald without the second D.

So we’ve got:

Tod + D = Todd.

Donald − D = Donal.

One D added.

One D removed.

And somewhere in the middle is a man trying to understand his own identity.

This becomes more personally significant when I consider my history with gender dysphoria.

That is a serious internal experience involving identity, the body, and the sometimes difficult process of understanding oneself.

I’m not suggesting that adding or removing a letter explains gender dysphoria. It doesn’t.

But those tiny spelling differences became metaphors for questions I’ve wrestled with:

What parts of my identity were assigned?

What parts did I discover?

What parts did I attempt to remove?

And what parts have always been me?

I can appreciate the seriousness of those questions while also appreciating that my brain somehow recruited a Disney fox and a spelling lesson to investigate them.

Apparently, my subconscious couldn’t afford another psychiatrist.

So it hired a cartoon character.

And let’s not overlook the coincidence that while I am examining the D in Donald, my historical septic photograph happens to involve another Donald entirely.

This story now has more Ds than a remedial spelling class.

The Number 23 Has Entered the Chat

During a recent therapy discussion, the film The Number 23, starring Jim Carrey, entered the conversation.

It’s a psychological thriller about a man who becomes increasingly consumed with numerical patterns.

Which, given my own research, is a little like recommending Jaws to a shark.

Then came November 2, 2026.

The Powerball results were:

7 – 23 – 29 – 64 – 66

Powerball: 23

And in the Double Play drawing:

20 – 23 – 24 – 33 – 61

Three appearances of 23 across the two drawings.

These are the actual published lottery results.

Three 23s.

After a discussion involving The Number 23.

Naturally, I noticed.

Now, mathematically, repeating numbers are entirely possible. Lottery balls do not know what movies my therapist and I have discussed.

At least, that’s what their publicist keeps telling me.

But the coincidence was striking enough to add to my collection.

My AI helped verify the actual numbers, and then did what AI does when I start finding metaphysical implications in lottery results:

It explained probability.

Thank you, ChatGPT.

I was hoping for the secrets of the universe.

Instead, I got a statistical disclaimer.

Apparently, even the simulation has a legal department.

Brian, Brain, AI, and a Rose

Now we approach the part of today’s conversation where the wordplay becomes almost horticultural.

I was discussing E. Brian Rose, someone whose birthday I associate with my own, June 2.

Consider the name Brian.

B R I A N

Swap the I and the A.

B R A I N

Brian becomes BRAIN.

And right there inside the word BRAIN are the letters:

AI.

Artificial Intelligence.

So here’s Brian, whose letters can be rearranged into brain, which contains AI, while I’m sitting here using AI to examine my own brain.

And the surname?

Rose.

A flower.

I’ve also been paying attention to a little rose in my own spiritual reflections.

Not physically poking it, as I initially described it. More accurately, watching and tending to it through my attention.

That’s the interesting difference.

With AI, I tinker.

With my brain, I question.

With the rose, I observe.

One is artificial.

One is biological.

One is botanical.

And all three are somehow involved in my attempt to understand consciousness.

To me, the rose is a metaphor for growth and renewal rather than proof that some external intelligence arranged the names.

Maybe my brain is learning to bloom.

Maybe the AI is helping me prune it.

Or maybe we’ve simply spent so much time rearranging letters that we’re now doing landscaping in the dictionary.

Either way, I have apparently evolved from sucking shit out of the ground to contemplating what grows in it.

Which, when you think about it, is an actual improvement.

The Ultimate Content Management System

There is something genuinely funny about the way this entire story came together.

In 2018, I had a physical waste-management problem.

In 2026, I have an information-management problem.

Back then, I hired Shields.

Today, I consult ChatGPT.

Back then, a truck removed everything that had accumulated underground.

Today, artificial intelligence helps me sort through years of accumulated memories, associations, coincidences, philosophical speculation, and psychological leftovers.

I even use WordPress to publish the results.

WordPress: because apparently, after dictating enough shit, you eventually need somewhere to deposit it.

The difference is that the old material was supposed to disappear.

The new material is supposed to be read.

I think that qualifies as progress.

And perhaps the best part is that I can look back at something as ordinary as a septic service photograph and discover an entirely new joke eight years after taking it.

Not because the photograph changed.

Not because quantum error correction necessarily rearranged history.

But because I changed.

My experiences changed.

My vocabulary changed.

My capacity to find humor in my own bewilderment changed.

And the photo was still there, waiting to become a punchline.

The Dictator’s Final Decree

So here we are.

Donald Trump visited Biloxi.

The Dictator of Moore Evil raised his Shields.

Dr. Fox became entangled with a missing photograph and Disney’s Tod.

The extra D wandered through questions about identity.

The number 23 showed up three times after a conversation about The Number 23.

Brian became brain.

AI appeared inside it.

And somewhere in all this mess, a little rose kept growing.

Is this evidence that we’re living inside a holographic simulation?

No. Not by itself.

Is it evidence that the human mind can construct an astonishingly elaborate network of associations from ordinary events?

Absolutely.

Does that make the story any less entertaining?

Hell no.

Paul Kammerer investigated the law of seriality.

I appear to be investigating the law of septic seriality.

A working hypothesis might be:

When enough shit accumulates, eventually somebody has to come along and pump it out.

Whether that’s a septic service, a psychiatrist, an AI, or a WordPress editor depends entirely on what kind of shit you’re dealing with.

And after eight years of reflection, I think I’ve finally figured out the most important lesson of November 26, 2018:

Sometimes the best way to defend Moore Evil is to raise your Shields, let the shit go, and give something better a chance to grow.

Preferably a rose.

Because if the universe really is a simulation, I’d like to think somebody in the programming department has a sense of humor.

And if they don’t?

Well, I’ve still got Shields’ number.

Transparency Note

AI generated, fact-checked by Todd.

This article was developed collaboratively with ChatGPT from Todd’s personal memories, photographs, voice conversations, and interpretations of seriality.

Public historical details—including Donald Trump’s November 26, 2018, Biloxi rally, Disney’s character Tod, and the November 2, 2026, Powerball results—were cross-checked against published sources.

The septic service photograph has a filename indicating November 26, 2018. Its original embedded capture timestamp was not independently available for verification.

The personal memories, spiritual interpretations, wordplay, and metaphysical speculation are Todd’s. Coincidences are presented as observations and personal associations, not proof of supernatural causation, reality alteration, or a simulated universe.

The article’s political satire, toilet humor, and embarrassing number of D jokes are intentional.

No actual foxes, roses, artificial intelligences, or political figures were harmed in the pumping of this article.