Dear Mr. Avenatti,
St. Anthony heard my prayers and now you're running for President!
I don't even care if you win or lose. I just want to watch you on TV. And don't go getting all reasonable and middle-of-the-road on me. We have enough of those jadrools already. Just give me some full-on, St. Louis Italian, and let the games begin.
I've been thinking about offering you my daughter Nicola's hand in marriage, you being without a wife at the moment. But I'm going to wait and see how this plays out. I really can't picture her as First Lady, unless you're okay with her sleeping in all morning and wearing flats. But she's beautiful (like a Botticelli!), and makes sauce. So things don't work out, keep it in mind.
In bocca al lupo.