Speech to Make Albanian Parliament MPs Cry

(originally: Thank you, Rigerta Locke. )

Thank you, Rigerta Locke.

Honored, Mr. Speaker of Parliament, honoured MPs.

I, unlike the foreman, have not graduated from La Sapienza in Rome, but I have played the prostitute first on the streets of Rome.

I was born in a lost Albanian village where there was no street yet, but they found a way and came back with the fejuan” and they forced me out of the village skeet to put me in the office of prostitution.

When I was first taken to Italy, I was thrilled to get into the dark of the night in the tire, touched and felt the salt water of the Vlore Sea for the first time. In Italy I only arrived with a bag of bread and a large suitcase full of dreams. The man who engaged me promised me paradise, but the gates of hell had become almost like Dante Aliger's comedy.

Honored deputy, honored Albanian citizen.

When you guys were all sitting around making a lot of noise and slandering the entire world, I was struggling in customer cars, sucking on all of this.

When you all came back in the evening next to your family, last night I was being found by someone else by fucking like animals to reach my husband's profit rate.

When all right and left were fighting and fighting, the internationals would come to Tirana in an emergency to reconcile you. And while I refused to sell my body and my honor, no one would hear my cries for help but I would fuck with my husband's burning cigarettes shut off by humanity.

I've cured the towns and streets physically, hormonal, femininal, animalic, and I've been surprised to find my body's strength to stay alive. I was born and raised in a lost village in the mountains where we didn't fill our stomach with bread but only lungs with air and ignorance. I was born into a large family with small monetary and mental capacities but with great vengeance on the city and progress.

The good-day speaker just showed that she came back from Rome and opened a farm in her village, but she forgot to tell me and my dozens of friends when Italian authorities sent us back to our country, we couldn't open up cattle and goats but goats and cows treated us and humiliated us by not giving us the courage to start a new life.

Honored MPs, even when one of us took the liberty of denouncing animal abuses and the trafficking that was committed to us, many of you elected by the people became parties and partners with the criminals. Our hopes were confused and wrinkled like our abused skin and found between four roads we had no choice. In our homes, they wanted to kill us for selling honor, in the village they shot at us with the stones of shame, civil society considered us to be just numbers, police opened up old wounds with the new violence, in court they didn't punish the pimp, but we...

Many of us were killed and killed, many of us ended up on the streets no longer as prostitutes but sick and drug addicts. Enough of us have been raped by children conceived in myths, some remain forever childless, and others that we children have ruined.

Honourable parliament, Your Honour to my day's parade!

I noticed carefully that during the time of the Rigelta's speech, Rigelta himself would cry, you too were deputies. He spoke of the country's asphalt - free streets, and his eyes filled with tears. The Rigelta complained about the lack of goat and bear appetite in the forest, erodes your MPs' tears. She told Rigelta about her friend's unsold milk, you were thrilled and crying like a child. I talked about selling people, you laughed. I was told of animal torture and synthetic violence against women, you were ziggling. I was told about the village's ignorance, you were kidding... After all, in this life hundreds of thousands like you live: eat, shit, sleep, wake up and eat and shit again.

Cry, climb and cry. Rigelta bought a race goat in France 1200 euros, me in Zurich once 400 francs were sold.

I'm old, I'm extinct, I'm abused. I can't produce lust or milk like Rigelta's goats!

Brussels started 2017/Pamlet. com