Nearing the interminable finish line to the rusty whip-fight that is the 2016 Presidential election, a thought occurred: the by the time the 2020 election arrives, I will be 36.

This means I would legally be old enough to be elected president. It also means the Millennial generation is within reach of putting one of their own into positions of power.

If Donald Trump can be recorded in 2005 explaining how to sexually assault a woman, imagine how much history will float to the surface when a Millennial, with all their elective information-sharing, runs for office.

What will people care about? What will you or I share in common with them?

I've finished drafting The Diffused States of America's second chapter. I haven't determined the delivery method for it yet. However, the chapter required intensive editing to keep the story sharp.

Lucky for you, I saved most of the passages that I altogether removed from the book.

Turns out they create a weird dream-state when presented out of context while still in chronological order. Enjoy the weirdness:

I have held many jobs in many industries. Interaction with business-owners is the connective thread between them. In the purest sense, I educate these business-owners market, sell, deliver, and grow their businesses.

I've worked at my current company for nearing five years now.

Imagine that: for the amount of time it takes somebody to complete high school—longer, considering there's no summer vacation in business—I've been speaking to people about their businesses.

All day. Every day.

There are certain maniacs that own businesses that would rather self-destruct than conceive they made a mistake.

Destiny is the game of the zeitgeist. It's the ghost of our time.

It rolls into town, beautiful, luscious, packed with things seen and unseen—and it's devoured. Following, we pick our teeth with its bones for the following six months, mouths watering at the thought of our next meal.

It's the Netflix of video games and that equivalency isn't because it's streamed (which it isn't). No, instead, Destiny is the Netflix of video games because it's binged, dissected, passed around, and its next content drop is anticipated.

Destiny: Rise of Iron is the greatest preview of the unnamed, eventual, inevitable Destiny 2 to date:

In an innocuous gesture, Jimmy Fallon, host of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, made one request of Republican presidential nominee, Donald Trump: "Can I mess up your hair?"

Jimmy Fallon, an entertainer, a non-dramatic entertainer, a television host, a guy who does impressions, and a man with all the station and opportunity in life to recognize wrongness and exact goodness, asked the violent figurehead of an established hate group, "hey, mind if I run my hand through your fur like you're the family dog?"

There is no joke more hollow to demonstrate that Donald Trump is a better comedian than Jimmy Fallon. Jimmy Fallon betrays comedy.

Five separate stories inform the Ghost Little shared universe. The collected story containing them is called The Arc.

The stories were initially just that: stories. During their writing, the stories began to speak to each other. Formerly merely short ideas, the universe expanded.

The idea was not only to give small ideas life in tiny books for easy consumption on the go in a modern life, but to lash those ideas together by a continuous universe. While The Arc's stories sometimes reference one another, they never does so at storytelling's expense. The Arc requires no homework of the reader to fully enjoy.

These five separate stories each occupy a unique written genre, each a unique invitation to readers with personal taste:

If you've been watching the NFL opening weekend, you've certainly seen a few hundred car ads. It comes as no surprise that auto-makers have taken no strides to sell automobiles to young people. The definition of "young person" also appears to be tumbling, too.

The real trouble is the Millennial generation not only has no desire for a car, or any money for a car, they don't even know what a cool car even looks like.

I ran an experiment and showed some photographs to some Millennials. I asked them to choose which cars looked the coolest to them. The results were laughable.

Neck-deep in more streamable video than a time-locked Greek god could binge in a gap-year following undergrad, I've discovered the Golden Age of Television's most enjoyable facet is how much conversation it facilitates.

We're seated comfortably, 60 inches of display to pour us some colors and words, and we are paralyzed. It's not simply that there's too much TV out there, that's a problem Uncle Jeff complained about at Thanksgiving 1994 between mouthfuls of Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.

No, today, we have too much CHOICE in television. Here's the good news: it's making us talk to our friends and it's making the TV better.

It didn't take long for the internet to turn into 1970s Times Square's digital equivalent. Everything is sea-weeded in salty, leeching, tasteless garbage masquerading as business or advertising. You feel like you could be mugged at any moment.

There are a few chief offenders in this race to bottom of horrible online user experirence. Ads slide out, pop out, pop up, mislabel, mislead, and trash your brain while you try to find what you'd imagine is the simplest information. The assault is so brutal, it ought to be brought on charges for thought-pollution.

Never mind why these sites launch the bombardment. That should be obvious. Which sites are the worst is the truly notable point:

Anyone considering Arnold Schwarzenegger for a movie role needs to have a sense of humor about an Austrian that is capable of squatting a sportscar.

Some of these characters Schwarzenegger plays have awesome names. Some of them have moronic names. Some of the moronic ones fit him flawlessly. Some of the names are too bland.

But which Schwarzenegger character has the best, most fitting name? I've grouped them into tiers for simpliciy, but this is the definitive manifesto on the topic.