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.