Caro Tigre,

First of all, let me compliment you on your tan. (When I said the same thing about American President Barack Obama, my opponents claimed to be horrified, but they’re communists anyway, so who cares? I work like hell on my tan. Why shouldn’t I compliment yours, even if it comes naturally?)

As you know, we’ve had similar problems lately, you and I. Our wives are furious and vengeful; our lovers are venal and talking to the press. (Have any of yours tape-recorded you?). And people are throwing things at our faces. I’m not sure exactly what happened to you. Was it a cell phone? But some lunatic creamed me with a replica of the Duomo in Milan, and those spires hurt! Cracked a couple of teeth, broke my nose, split my lip, opened up a cut under my eye. You know, I’ve had a little plastic surgery now and then, but I am going to wear these scars like a badge of honor. I only wish one of my ostensible lovers had done it instead.

Which brings me to my point, Tigre. It’s time to move to Italy. This is a country that will understand you, appreciate you, love you! And not in spite of your womanizing, but because of it! Maybe in the U.S.A. your image as a bland family guy, like somebody out of 1950s American television, makes sense. But here in Italy, it’s not just golf balls that make a man. Does anybody (but the communists) talk about the corruption charges against me? No. They talk about the women talking about me and they say, hey, he’s 73 years old. Not bad!

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