Albanian journalist: Don't go all the way to Kavaja, I'll rape you wherever you want.

Journalist from Albania, Bleddy Mane, has been ironic again. This time with Albanian deputies who, according to the description he makes in a text, have the background of the perpetrators.

Don't go all the way to Cavaja, I'll rape you wherever you want”, you start his writing where, among other things, he's going to show details from his childhood and the bully's father.

Here's his full writing:

NO ♪ IN CWAY, I WHICH TO DON

By Bledi Mane-Public Enemy

Do you know when I was born, how I grew up, where I live?
In the spring of 1997 when I was born in the maternity capacity of a province, my cries were not heard. The sound of tin cane and grenades must have gone right through my voice. My parents then burst at my grandmother's house, and Dad took Mom and Vlora to the boat in Italy. But like some of the young men of the day, my father couldn't resist temptation. As a young groom who loved money, not mother. Year after year, I missed my parents' homes but not the labels and insults of people in town. For them I was the bastard, the son of a prostitute who used the streets of Italy until I became a teenager, my mother and father were sent back from Italy and Dad for fear that my mother would bring him to the police, was forced to hold us as a family for the world. Inside the walls of our house were fights, violence, noise, turquoise, curses, no kisses, no love, and so torn by three with Mom's whores and shops in Tirana. The new life in the capital carried old stories and I heard all kinds of shit and stories that cut my soul and my parents' ties.
We had property, we had money, we had guns, we had cars, but we had no human communication, no respect. I was growing up like a sailor sailing the oceans, but never had the chance to dive into the sea. I fed on hashish, cocaine, pizza, alcohol, hate, but they never fed me with love and fun. I went to expensive schools but I was never taught at home by human standards. I felt the adrenaline driving faster than the car, but it never got excited with the elixir of love.
The older I grew up, the more I knew a man's insults towards a woman like my father did my mother. The more I got married, the more I got the violence of a man towards women like my father did.
There are only insults, drugs, gambling and violence in my street society.
In my expensive school there are but farts, wild luxury, bullism, drugs, collective ignorance.
In our home there are insults, screams, violence, blood.
On my TV there's news of injuries, theft, murder, drug trafficking.
In my cell phone, there are reports of blood, weapons, songs with violent lyrics, perverted porn...
I don't have love for anybody, I grew up to hate. So if a girl loves me, I can't believe it. I feel like my father was insulting and raping Mom and sold her sex not only to friends but to clients on the streets of Italy.
Don't worry, though. When I grow up, I will correct myself and become an MP. The sorrows of my life will not be reflected in my public speaking, in my conduct!