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202,666 Votes, Three 23s, and the Shit That Was Too Big to Count

An election-night investigation into Scott Colom, Cindy Hyde-Smith, Cologuard, and the ongoing remodeling of my reality.

By Todd Alan Megee | November 5, 2026

Mississippi is trying to count its votes, and I’m trying to get somebody to accept my shit.

Neither process has been particularly straightforward.

And somehow, in the middle of all this, I’ve managed to stumble into Scott Colom, Cindy Hyde-Smith, the number 23, a closed UPS Store, and a highway named after a man whose name happens to match that of a former Environmental Protection Agency administrator.

Welcome back to my investigation of the T Meta Structure.

I promise this story actually happened. The metaphysical interpretation, however, is where things get interesting.

First, They Rejected My Shit

For weeks, I’ve been preparing myself to complete a Cologuard colorectal cancer screening.

Now, most people probably don’t invest much philosophical thought into producing a stool sample. But I’m Todd, and I tend to invest metaphysical energy into practically everything.

This was no ordinary bowel movement.

I had prepared myself mentally, spiritually, and physically. I had contemplated the process, considered its significance, and finally produced what I believed was a perfectly respectable contribution to medical science.

I packaged it, took it to the UPS Store, and sent it on its way.

There was just one problem.

My shit was too big.

Cologuard rejected the sample because I’d provided more than the testing process allowed.

Weeks of preparation. All that mental and metaphysical investment.

And they threw my shit away.

Literally.

I suppose it’s good to know there are limits to how full of shit a person can be, even in America.

The UPS Man Knows What’s in the Box

The first delivery wasn’t exactly a private affair.

When I walked into the UPS Store with my unmistakably labeled Cologuard package, an employee looked at it and said something along the lines of:

“Oh, that’s crap.”

Well, yes, sir. That’s precisely what it is.

I wasn’t particularly thrilled about being the subject of an unsolicited stool commentary.

The whole point of using a shipping service was to get my medical specimen to the laboratory without having to discuss its contents with strangers.

Apparently, UPS offers complimentary package identification.

So when the replacement Cologuard kit arrived, I decided I’d return to that very same UPS Store.

Maybe I’d see the same employee. Maybe we’d have another exchange. Maybe I’d get to confront the awkwardness from the first visit.

But the universe—or, more precisely, the commercial property management—had other plans.

The UPS Store was closed for remodeling.

I am not making this up.

Here I am, attempting to remodel my own life, and the very establishment where I intended to revisit an embarrassing experience was literally undergoing renovations.

I couldn’t even get through the door.

There was something almost offensively poetic about that.

My internal renovation project had apparently collided with an external renovation project.

So I headed to Office Depot.

No luck.

That location wasn’t accepting UPS packages. They told me they handled FedEx instead.

I had a perfectly good box of shit, but apparently the corporate shipping infrastructure wasn’t equipped to receive it.

Next recommendation?

CVS.

Wonderful.

The CVS where I know Todd, Dr. Lamb, and Liz.

Exactly what I wanted: to take a medical specimen containing my own feces to a pharmacy populated by familiar faces.

At this point, I’d have preferred to mail the package anonymously from another state.

I should be able to drop off my shit among complete strangers.

People deserve privacy when dealing with personal medical matters. They also deserve privacy when exercising their right to vote.

That brings us to Mississippi politics.

Scott Colom Is One Letter Away From Colon

Somewhere amid my digestive difficulties, Mississippi held an election.

Republican incumbent Cindy Hyde-Smith was facing Democrat Scott Colom in an extraordinarily close U.S. Senate contest.

For purposes of my personal investigation, I’ve developed two nicknames:

Scott Colom becomes Scott Colon.

And Cindy Hyde-Smith becomes Cindy High Prices.

Neither nickname is an official campaign designation, although I suspect both could make interesting bumper stickers.

And considering what I’ve been dealing with medically, I couldn’t help but appreciate the timing of a candidate named Colom appearing in my life.

My colon is under examination.

Scott Colom is under examination by Mississippi voters.

And both are awaiting results.

But then I saw a number that stopped me.

Washington, D.C., Calling. The Devil Is on Extension 666.

While checking WLOX’s election coverage, I captured a screenshot showing Scott Colom with exactly:

202,666 votes.

Not 202,665.

Not 202,667.

202,666.

The screenshot showed Cindy Hyde-Smith leading with 220,770 votes, with an estimated 48.9% of votes counted.

Now consider how my pattern-seeking brain processes this.

202 is the original telephone area code for Washington, D.C.

666 is the biblical number associated with the beast in Revelation 13:18.

And here we are in 2026.

I practically had to laugh.

Washington is calling from area code 202, and the devil is waiting on extension 666.

Apparently, even Satan has a lobbyist.

None of this establishes that any candidate is associated with the devil. It’s simply a numerical coincidence that made me stop scrolling.

But what a screenshot.

Taken November 11 at 8:58 PM

And the truly remarkable part is what happened afterward.

The race became even closer.

As of the morning of November 5, reported unofficial results had Colom at 464,926 votes and Hyde-Smith at 463,788, a difference of only 1,138 votes.

Independent candidate Ty Pinkins had also received nearly 20,000 votes.

With ballots still outstanding, no winner had been declared.

That’s a close election.

You could call it a potential blue wave, a political cliffhanger, or simply Mississippi taking its time counting ballots.

Personally, I’m just impressed that the state can process hundreds of thousands of votes while I can’t get one properly sized stool specimen delivered without visiting half the retail establishments in Jackson County.

Two Scott Pruitts and One Environmental Situation

Now, travel with me to Gautier, Mississippi.

Or as I sometimes like to joke, Guitar, because apparently living in Gautier has permanently damaged my ability to spell the instrument.

During Donald Trump’s first term—what I call the Orange Singularity—I became conscious of a local road designation:

The Scott E. Pruitt Memorial Highway.

It’s an actual stretch of U.S. Highway 90 in Gautier, running from Mississippi Highway 57 to Beasley Road.

The highway honors Marine Master Sergeant Scott E. Pruitt, who died serving in Afghanistan in 2012.

That man should not be confused with the other Scott Pruitt, who became administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency under Donald Trump in 2017.

Two different people. Same name.

But in the machinery of my personal associations, the coincidence was impossible to ignore.

Scott Pruitt. The EPA. Environmental cleanup.

Scott Colom. Colon screening. Personal cleanup.

And me, attempting to get a hazardous-looking cardboard box accepted by a shipping company.

I’m not claiming any of these individuals caused my predicament.

I’m simply suggesting that if Mother Nature is preparing a comedy routine about cleanup operations, my contribution has apparently become a recurring prop.

Jim Carrey, the Number 23, and My Therapist

And just when I thought the story had produced enough coincidences, my therapist introduced another one.

During a recent Tuesday session, she brought up Jim Carrey and his 2007 psychological thriller, The Number 23.

You probably remember Carrey from The Mask.

In The Number 23, his character becomes increasingly preoccupied with finding the number 23 throughout his life.

A movie about numerical obsession.

Brought up during therapy.

With me.

Wonderful.

Later, I checked the Mississippi Lottery website.

The November 2, 2026, Powerball drawing had the following numbers:

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.

I checked again.

Yes. Three.

You can verify the official results yourself.

The numbers were drawn on Monday, and I discovered that pattern after the therapy conversation.

Was that a message from the universe? I can’t establish that.

Was it a funny coincidence given the conversation we’d just had?

Absolutely.

And the most irritating part?

I DIDN’T BUY A LOTTERY TICKET.

There I was, noticing patterns after the fact, with absolutely no financial benefit to show for it.

Apparently, the T Meta Structure has excellent comedic timing but no guaranteed jackpot strategy.

And that might be the most realistic interpretation of metaphysics I’ve encountered all week.

The Observer Effect and the T Meta Structure

For those unfamiliar with my work, the T Meta Structure is my personal framework for examining coincidences, recurring themes, and the relationships I perceive between my experiences and the world around me.

The T represents Todd, among other associations within my research.

I sometimes describe this process as a form of personal observer effect or lensing.

That’s my metaphysical language, not a claim that my observations physically altered an election, lottery drawing, or UPS renovation schedule.

I look at ordinary events, examine their relationships, and ask whether there’s something meaningful in the way they intersect.

The Austrian biologist Paul Kammerer explored a related interest through his law of seriality, proposing that coincidences might reflect deeper organizing principles.

This year marks the hundredth anniversary of his death in 1926.

My own research has developed a personal, sometimes spiritual connection to his ideas.

But even when the coincidences feel extraordinary, the distinction between an observed pattern and a demonstrated causal connection matters.

And frankly, I think the humor gets better when I acknowledge that distinction.

Because it doesn’t require me to prove the universe is holographic to appreciate the absurdity of trying to mail a stool sample while the UPS Store is being remodeled.

A Close Election and an Unfinished Test

So here we are.

Mississippi is still trying to determine who received enough votes to represent the state in the United States Senate.

Scott Colom and Cindy Hyde-Smith are separated by a remarkably small margin.

My therapist brought up the number 23, and I subsequently discovered three 23s in a Powerball drawing.

I captured Scott Colom with exactly 202,666 votes during the counting.

And my first Cologuard specimen, after weeks of preparation, was rejected because it was too large.

The second specimen has sent me on a retail scavenger hunt through a closed UPS Store, an uncooperative Office Depot, and a CVS staffed by people I know.

I am attempting to remodel my life.

The UPS Store was remodeling its building.

The election is potentially reshaping Mississippi’s political representation.

And somewhere in a medical laboratory, I sincerely hope somebody is finally processing my replacement sample.

There may be no grand explanation connecting these events.

Maybe they’re just ordinary occurrences that become extraordinary when viewed together.

But if Mother Nature is listening, I do have one final request.

Please let my second shit be accepted.

I’ve already gone through enough crap.

And after all this talk of ballots, counting, and political representation, I think even my colon deserves to have its contribution properly examined.

Transparency and editorial disclosure

AI-generated, fact-checked by Todd.

This article was prepared with AI assistance using personal experiences, reported observations, satire, and publicly verifiable information. Public factual references were checked against available sources; personal anecdotes are presented from Todd’s account.

AI safety and editorial guidelines were applied to distinguish documented facts from metaphysical interpretations, avoid unsupported allegations about political candidates, and preserve the dignity of people involved in personal encounters.

The author’s metaphysical perspective includes an alter ego referred to as the Dictator, which he spiritually associates with the possible reincarnation of Paul Kammerer. The author humorously describes this persona as having spiritually audited the article. This is a personal belief and literary framing, not a scientifically established claim.

All coincidences are genuine observations as described by the author. Their interpretation remains open to the reader.

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Two Ricks, One Todd, and a Mirror That Wouldn’t Sit Still

An Odd Todd adventure in Baptist seriality, Bic lighters, and Rick and Morty

It all started on October 6, 2026, in Ottumwa, Iowa.

Former city council member Matthew Dalbey delivered an invocation at a city council meeting, addressing a “dark father” and concluding with the words “Hail Satan.”

But one local pastor wasn’t having it.

His name?

Rick Bick.

Pastor Bick, of New Life Center in Ottumwa, interrupted the proceedings to object to what he considered a curse upon the city. He urged the council to reverse it.

The mayor eventually called for thirty seconds of silence.

Now, most people might hear that story, form an opinion about religion and government, and move on.

But I’m Odd Todd.

And I immediately thought of another Rick.

Pastor Ricky Colvin of Lilly Orchard Baptist Church in Moss Point, Mississippi.

Two Ricks. Two pastors. Two states.

And one remarkably convenient surname.

My Rick Had Left the Building

Here’s where the timing got interesting.

I learned about the Iowa incident during the very first week of Pastor Colvin’s one-month sabbatical.

Just when I had something particularly unusual to tell him, he was gone.

So there I was, sitting on a perfectly good Rick-to-Rick coincidence, with no Rick available to receive it.

October rolled along.

The story waited.

And somewhere in Mississippi, a theological punchline was serving a thirty-day sentence.

Finally, Pastor Colvin returned on Sunday, November 1.

There was just one problem.

Odd Todd slept through church.

After waiting an entire month for Rick to come back, Rick returned on schedule, but apparently I needed another week of rest.

So the story sat for another seven days.

The coincidence had acquired a waiting period — and then requested an extension.

The Ricks Are on Fire

On Sunday, November 8, I finally made it to Lilly Orchard Baptist Church.

Just before the service began, Pastor Colvin was greeting everyone.

And along came Odd Todd, carrying his month-old Rick story.

I told Rick about Rick.

But I wasn’t simply recounting what happened at an Iowa city council meeting.

I was attempting to explain the symbolism.

Rick Bick.

Bick sounds like Bic.

As in a Bic cigarette lighter.

And what does a Bic lighter do?

It produces fire.

So there I was, standing in a Mississippi Baptist church, explaining to Pastor Rick that, in my personal holographic interpretation of the coincidence, the Ricks are on fire!

One Rick in Iowa had become fired up enough about an invocation to interrupt a city council meeting.

Another Rick stood before me in Mississippi, greeting his congregation.

And in the middle stood Odd Todd, trying to explain why a disposable cigarette lighter had become a theological metaphor.

Pastor Colvin smiled.

He didn’t flinch.

Of course, he had plenty of other people to greet, so our conversation was brief.

I might have hoped for a little more reaction, but Sunday morning isn’t exactly the ideal time to introduce your pastor to a theological interpretation involving Satan, another Rick, and a Bic lighter.

Especially before the opening hymn.

But Wait. Bic Makes Pens, Too.

Here’s where hindsight added another layer.

Bic doesn’t just manufacture cigarette lighters.

Bic also makes ink pens.

And that’s an angle I hadn’t pursued when I spoke to Pastor Colvin.

Think about it.

One Bic produces fire.

Another Bic produces ink.

One lights something up.

The other writes something down.

And here I am, Odd Todd, writing an article about two Ricks, a Bic lighter, and a Baptist church.

The same name that suggested fire now suggested the instrument used to record the story.

First the fire. Then the ink.

The Ricks were on fire, and somebody had to document the combustion.

Apparently, that somebody was me.

Rick and Morty Enter the Multiverse

Of course, no discussion of multiple Ricks and a potentially holographic reality would be complete without mentioning Rick and Morty.

In that animated universe, multiple versions of Rick Sanchez exist across alternate realities.

Meanwhile, here in Mississippi, I’m trying to explain to a real-world Rick why another real-world Rick in Iowa reminds me of a Bic lighter.

Imagine Rick Sanchez opening one of his green portals directly into Lilly Orchard Baptist Church.

He takes one look at Pastor Rick, another look at Odd Todd, and discovers we’re discussing a third Rick who protested a Satanic invocation.

Morty would probably ask whether they’re allowed to leave before the sermon.

Rick would probably want to know why it took thirty days and an additional missed Sunday to deliver one sentence.

But there were no portals.

No interdimensional spacecraft.

Just a pastor greeting his congregation and Odd Todd delivering a long-delayed observation about fire, names, and coincidence.

Sometimes reality provides enough material without any special effects.

A Curious Case of Seriality

To someone who studies Paul Kammerer’s law of seriality, the timing was particularly interesting.

First came the Iowa event.

Then the discovery of the name Rick Bick.

Then the recognition that another Pastor Rick was already part of my own life.

But that pastor was away.

Then he returned.

And I overslept.

Finally, the encounter happened.

The separate events seemed to assemble themselves into a coherent narrative, even though each could have an entirely ordinary explanation.

That’s what makes seriality fascinating to me.

Not that every coincidence proves some hidden mechanism is operating behind reality, but that our minds can recognize intricate relationships among events that initially appear unrelated.

For someone exploring holographic reality and simulation theory, that experience can feel like looking into a mirror that keeps reflecting another mirror.

And occasionally, one of those mirrors has a Bic lighter.

Don’t Be Forsaken

Then came another moment.

Later, a deacon told me, “Don’t be forsaken.”

That landed like another unexpected piece of the story.

Perhaps he was simply offering Christian encouragement.

Perhaps he meant not to feel abandoned, forgotten, or separated from faith.

But after waiting more than a month to tell Rick about Rick, hearing those words gave the experience an oddly fitting conclusion.

I had waited.

Rick had returned.

I had overslept.

The story had finally been delivered.

And now somebody was reminding me not to be forsaken.

Maybe the lesson was simply that patience has its rewards.

Or maybe that the timing of a good joke cannot be rushed.

Either way, it was two Ricks, one Todd, a monthlong intermission, a seven-day snooze button, a Bic lighter, a Bic pen, and a mirror that wouldn’t sit still.

And somewhere in the imaginary multiverse, Rick Sanchez was probably shaking his head.

“Morty, this guy doesn’t even need a portal gun. He’s got a Baptist church and a Bic lighter.”

The Ricks were on fire, the Bic was full of ink, and Odd Todd finally had something to write about.

Sources and transparency

The Iowa incident was reported by Radio Iowa on October 9, 2026 and Ottumwa Radio.

The account of the conversation at Lilly Orchard Baptist Church is based on Todd’s firsthand recollections. The symbolic and holographic interpretations are personal reflections, not established scientific conclusions.

Written with AI assistance, with factual research reviewed for publication.

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My Cologuard Came Back Negative. Mississippi Is Still Counting.

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

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.

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After Nearly Ten Years, I’m Finally Asking for Donations

November 6, 2026 — A first for trumpedwithpower.com.

Well, folks, it finally happened.

After nearly a decade of operating trumpedwithpower.com, I’ve added something to the website that has never existed here before.

A Donations button.

Since 2016, this website has been a one-way financial transaction. Money went out of my pocket for hosting, advertising, maintenance, and countless hours of labor. Nothing came back in the form of donations.

I’ve never charged admission to my thoughts, and I don’t intend to start now.

But I am finally asking for a little help.

A Decade of Trying to Make Sense of Reality

This website began during an extraordinary period in American politics. What started as an exploration of money, speech, and power gradually evolved into something much more personal.

I’ve spent years examining seriality, the strange coincidences that seem to echo through our lives, and the possibility that consciousness and reality are connected in ways we don’t yet understand.

Along the way, I’ve explored religion, physics, holographic reality, simulation theory, and now artificial intelligence.

Some of my ideas have been serious. Some have been ridiculous. And occasionally, the ridiculous ones have led to the most interesting questions.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve trusted people with money I couldn’t afford to lose. I’ve followed ideas down rabbit holes that didn’t necessarily lead anywhere.

But I kept writing.

Eventually, I couldn’t afford to maintain the website as it once existed, so I reduced it to this blog rather than let the entire project disappear.

The Irony of Money and Free Speech

One of my earliest inspirations was Citizens United v. FEC, the Supreme Court case that helped shape my thinking about money and political expression.

I’ve spent nearly ten years questioning the relationship between money and speech.

And now, after all that time, I’m asking for money so I can keep speaking.

You have to appreciate the irony.

I don’t believe wealth determines the truth of an idea. But poverty certainly affects how much time, freedom, and energy someone has to investigate it.

I’m trying to study an increasingly complex universe of information from a rather uncomfortable financial position.

I sometimes describe that as attempting to gravitationally lens information from the center of poverty.

Unfortunately, gravity hasn’t started paying my hosting bills.

Why Now?

Artificial intelligence has opened new possibilities for the research I’ve been pursuing.

I’m particularly interested in how multiple AI systems might fact-check one another, compare their errors, and work toward more reliable conclusions.

I don’t claim to have solved the universe. In fact, the more I’ve learned, the more I’ve come to appreciate how much remains uncertain.

What I do have is a long record of questions, experiences, observations, and a willingness to keep examining them.

What I need now is a little financial stability.

My First Invitation to Contribute

I’ve created a permanent donations page with several ways to support my work, including Cash App, Chime, Bitcoin, and Solana.

Visit the Donations Page

Contributions will help with website expenses, research tools, and my basic living expenses. These are voluntary personal gifts, not tax-deductible charitable donations.

There’s no obligation, no promised revelation, and certainly no guarantee that I’ll figure out what Schrödinger’s cat has been doing all these years.

If you’ve enjoyed my writing, found something thought-provoking, or simply appreciate someone who refuses to stop asking questions, I would be grateful for your support.

And if you can’t afford to contribute, I understand. Sharing the website is helpful, too.

After nearly ten years of putting money into this project, today marks the first day I’m inviting a little of it to flow in the opposite direction.

Thank you for reading, thinking, and occasionally laughing along with me.

— Todd

Transparency: This article was AI-generated from Todd’s personal experiences and reflections. Final fact-checking and editorial approval by Todd. Interpretations of seriality, consciousness, and reality are personal perspectives rather than established scientific conclusions.