He's the superior public speaker.

I greatly appreciate how Trump has managed to boil down his platforms into buzzwords so that my weak female brain doesn't have to waste important time and energy with basic sentence structure. And the best part is that those buzzwords function as the answer to literally any question ever posed. What's his foreign policy plan? ISIS, the blacks, a wall. How does he hope to make education more accessible? ISIS, the blacks, a wall. Is he aware that he's bragging about committing sexual assault? ISIS, the blacks, a wall. He answers every question succinctly and to the point, and it's just not fair that all of these moderators grill him over tiny things like grabbing womens' genitals because he feels he's entitled to it, while Hillary gets off scot-free despite all of the skeletons in her closet, like deleting 33,000 emails and existing. And he has great hands, they're very normal-sized.

He has the most respect for women.

He has infinitely more respect for women than Hillary. Now you may be asking, "but isn't Hillary a woman?" How wrong you are, dear sweet voter. Hillary is actually a shrieking harpie who feeds on the taxes of the 1% and 300,000 deleted emails a day. Harpies are not women. And they do not have hands. Or at least, hands as beautifully adequate as Trump's.

I enjoy monster movies.

Like Alien. Or Twilight. Or the second presidential debate. And I really want to live that fear. Trump can give me that fear with his extraordinarily normal hands.

He encourages me to vote.

And you bet I will be the first one in line at the polls on November 35th to get him and his adequately sized hands in office and keep #ShriekingHarpieHillary and her 900,000 deleted emails out.

Orange is my favorite color.

And I can't wait to look at that cheeto-dusted plastic bag and his incredibly normal hands for the next 90 years of his (dictatorshi)presidency.

I blatantly ignore all the history I've ever learned in every class ever.

Hitler who? Normal hands.

I am a sexual object.

Because I am a woman, fat old white men are entitled to do whatever they want with my body. This is because we live in the 1950's. Segregation is still a thing we're fine with. I am a housewife who happily makes casseroles for my banker husband who is socially allowed to beat me because I am his property and I happily invite any man who feels so inclined to grab my genitals even when I express how much I don't want them to because I exist purely for their sexual gratification and their staggeringly normal hands. Everything is fine and I don't hate it.

He's the only candidate running who's fit to be president.

And this is because he's the only candidate running. He's been running unopposed ever since Hillary died from pneumonia last month. She's unfit to be president because she's dead. Her weak woman's immune system just couldn't handle it because she was too busy deleting seven million emails and was on her period, probably. I like my president to not be dead, and Trump is not dead, because he has the best immune system the world has ever seen and I am actually overwhelmed with the pure normalcy of the size of his hands. I'm literally overcome with emotion over just how adequate they are. It's like he knows that I, Alana Fineman, a walking sex vessel who would not have this writing job if I weren't beautiful, will instantly yield to the raw, animal-like power of hands that aren't too big and obviously not too small, you loser.