FLASH NEWS
Doctor, don't leave.
2025-12-01 12:11:16 / EDITORIAL
16 years in opposition is such a long time that it would have exhausted the patience of the French, Russians, Mongols, Cubans, Chinese, and they would have dragged Napoleon, Stalin, Genghis Khan, Fidel Castro, Mao Zedong alive.
The doctor has done so many years, will do more, and no one touches him with a nail.
The doctor has a thousand reasons not to leave.
Just remember what titanic efforts it took for visa-free travel through Europe and entry into NATO. He went tooth for tooth in a titanic confrontation with the heartless and cunning West that was in no way in agreement. He achieved this thanks to the demonic will tempered in the anvils of the Labor Party. What is enough and more as a merit that gives him the full right to never let the azgan down.
The holy war with windmills is abandoned, and only the scoundrels, the Lilliputians, the technophiles get off the horse. Those who do not know, nor dare, to fight. Not our Doctor of the rope who only knows how to kill and plunder, to thrash and blood, to set fire to and burn, everything that he fancies as if it touches the autocratic power in the slightest.
Someone who does not have the right talent for lying leaves politics. But never the grandmother and father of deceit, the grandfather of intrigue, the uncle of the racketeer, the one for whom every letter is a trick, every syllable an intrigue, every word a lie, our Doctor.
He has no problem leaving politics, even a swindler who does not know how to steal or hide. But not the Doctor, the genius of theft, the patriarch of concealment, the sultan of donation, the master of making grapes and plums from public money stolen with excavators and bulldozers. There is no need for the thief of buying villas and businesses around the world with stolen money to leave politics. The possessor and squanderer of millions of Albanian dollars, who throws them here and there to find the right diluent to remove the Non Grata stain, without moving an eyelash or a nerve, even when he forgives with one hand, as much as, with a scythe and a shovel, all the villages of a commune in Librazhd do.
Some scoundrel who doesn't know how to deal with a mess has fled from the mayorship. But not the Doctor who raised beating to Art and applies it according to the principle:
He who beats, but during the beating the victim does not bleed, does not break at least four ribs, does not cause at least three cuts on the face like Tony Montana, does not break three teeth, is not called a beating but a tickling, is not considered violence but a caress, and consequently, no merit is recognized, no reward is given, no bone is thrown to him, no job is promised, for example at customs, where he can steal as much as he wants.
The one who best meets these conditions for beating, that is, the Doctor, does not have to leave his chair for any dead man who bleeds only from a knife to the throat, a soldier's boot to the stomach, or a head banging against the wall.
He also abandons the presidency, whoever doesn't know how to kill. Whoever knows how to kill, doesn't leave, stays. Those 26th of Gërrdec and 4th of January 21 are a drop of water in the sea of blood of thousands killed in 97 when the barracks that the Doctor erected collapsed and turned to dust and ashes at his feet in one day. No soldier, no officer, no clerk, no one obeyed him. The Doctor did well not to get off his horse at that time. Who dared to let the devil out of the bottle? No one! Except the Doctor.
They are the slobbery, soft, dead-headed leaders who leave even if only 1 person doesn't love them, doesn't like them, can't see them with their own eyes. The Doctor is not one of them. The Doctor, even though he knows that 1 million people don't love him, doesn't waver from the communist's obsession like Oso Kuka did at his meal, and he never gets off his horse.
The Doctor, with his nepotistic, regionalist, clientelistic, mercenary maneuvers, set up a state of thugs, gangsters, and ignorant people, who took Albania by the throat just as the Doctor took the presidency. And like Poe's Black Raven, he will never let it go. The Doctor did well to place the power of the Halabaks like a rock in the middle of the road to progress. The Albanians of the mountains who spit fire from their mouths and sparkle from their eyes only in football stadiums deserve no more.
There is no reason for the Doctor to leave. He has proven that he keeps his word. He never betrayed the Party of Labor. He never disgraced Marxism-Leninism to which he gave the Mountaineer's Oath. He remained loyal to it even in the darkest days. A communist with a red star on his forehead. Like a dog, Stalin's great-grandson and Lenin's great-great-grandson. There is no more heroic proof than this loyalty. Therefore, never leave. The Doctor does not leave the war. Only the one who is born a traitor, the shadow, the gene, the Doctor's DNA, leaves the war.
That the Doctor stole the land from the owners and gave it to the newcomers, was a mistake. But he is forgiven. To leave for so little, just because of the hundreds of deaths after 7501 conflicts over land ownership, is what they say: The horse farted at the inn door. God forbid the Great Doctor abandons the war for two cents.
Some are saying that the Doctor should leave because his life was lost after those rams that shake but do not fall. The naive who say this do not know that the Doctor can eat those rams even without falling, where they are. When the ram is not in his mind. He is resting. He is asleep. He is dreaming. There is no reason for the Doctor to abandon the armchair of theft, the ingenious trickster, because the ram cannot eat those that shake him.
There is no need for the Doctor to leave. He is not a missionary, nor a saint, nor a leader. He is a more than banal, vulgar political race. A black sun that does not warm, nor shine, only blackens. That sneaked into our lives. When the Party of Labor and Serbia gave it to us without asking. When our minds were not drunk with Freedom. When we understood the trick, but it was too late. We were hindered by excessive talk, dreams that were not shared with us, sleep that never came to us.
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