Misty Mahan Dantico.

I think we all know which alcohol fueled absent mother likes  to help that thing named Misty Dantico (or is it Datico? I never paid enough attention to her to even care),  formerly named Misty Mahan, that likes to stalk my social media and wait for my posts, but (as written below)  the problem I’m having is that I care about embarrassing children even when I don’t care about embarrassing them. But I’m starting to care less. If I write on my blog that means I don’t care if you read it.  What I care about is the same people that stalked me on Facebook, had me banned from Facebook, then continuing to stalk me on my blog and cowardly sharing those entries (which are public, jackass) in manners that would be shameful for juveniles. This culture of bullying and cowardness needs to be addressed. If 12 year olds behaved this way, they would be suspended. So grown adults that conduct themselves in a manner such as this deserve to be shamed.  So I have a feeling I’m about to write another column, this one about bullying, for the local paper. And in this one, I’m going to include everyone,  including Misty, on that list — and attach it to their actions. As well as the shameful statistics attached to bullying.

The first and last names of the regulars on the gossip page will be called out in print. I’m sure that’s really embarrassing for their children,  it would be for me if my parent acted that way, and I’m just not sure it’s the right thing to do. But I’m sick of the cowardness online.

Be waiting for it.

Your children, your children’s teachers, your ex-spouses that raise your children, your neighbors, your coworkers, your boss, may not hang out on that gossip page where you feel comfortable, but they may read the paper. I think it’s time to let the whole town know who you really are, don’t you? People grant themselves such anonymity and protection, or they think, behind a phone screen.

So, below is a post I even titled “Here skanks, share this!” but
hmm…. never shared. Take a read.

So, the skanks are back sharing my post again. I mean, they never share the ones where I call out their own unattractiveness; .their obesity; their lawsuits; government checks or pretzel slinging jobs; their drunkenness in the middle of the day, or their inability to even be alone with their children without supervision; their inability to purchase real estate and simultaneously have an adequate home evaluation performed; or their general level of misery and patheticness that someone like that stalk site represents.

Funny how they never share those posts.

Even more funny that they hang around my blog post and my Facebook page to try to catch the latest words from me so that they can pass them along.  Yeah, you hate me to such a degree or think I’m such an idiot that your main source of entertainment is to see what’s going on in my life — well, what the hell does that make you?

Too damn stupid to realize that everything I post on my blog, I post to make it easier for you to share because I don’t give a f*ck and that’s my point of writing — to get my words out there because I know you make it really easy to get them around.

‘preciate that.

Because every time you do this, every time you get your Saturday night entertainment from reading what I wrote, you prove again the level to which I win.

I just win all the f*cking time.

Ha, I truly own that skank sandwich of a FB group.

And I don’t even have to work at it! I’m watching the White House Correspondents dinner and their entertainment is me. It’s beautiful!

I win, gossip girls. How the f*ck do you not get that?
Hook, line, sinker. I load the bait,  you come swimming every time! I f*cking win! Still. Every day. You can’t live without me!
How the hell do you not get how miserable you are being,  and how much control I have over you right now?!

Exactly how I can play you that easily, and how I’m  going to eventually make $$ off of that very fact,  while you’re still sitting on your fat a-s watching Facebook for entertainment for any lack of real friends.

Why don’t you share that?

Seriously, share this:  Get some help for your misery, your alcoholism,  try to do something with your life because you’re really, really borderline obsessive scary.  Maybe somebody should call Dept. of Human Services on the ones of them that actually have their children, as opposed to the ones that don’t, because I’m not sure they have the mental capacity to raise them.

Again, I’m so pathologically delusional in their eyes that they get their kicks gossiping about me, but yet they wait for every word I say as a source of inspiration or entertainment, so what, exactly, does that make them.  Yet these skanks, these creepers, these stalkers never share that.

These people are truly the lowest common denominator among human life form.

I’m still running the show when your existence is based around something that I’ve written, you’re still baited so pathetically easy,  and are truly an example of a tragically pitiful adult existence.

But thanks once again for reminding me how truly awesome I am at what I do.

Seriously, I cannot stress how appropriate I found it that while I’m watching Obama and the White House Correspondents Dinner, my haters are whirling online.

If you spend your Saturday night talking about me, you’d better take a look at that. Where’s the ownership in that?

Hint: It doesn’t lie with you.

To recap: Why don’t you mind-numbingly unoriginal, closeted butt-huggers and douche baguette bum-lickers composed of blatantly unintelligent, unattractive and overweight individuals get yourself some exercise and a good psychiatrist.

Cause you reeeeeally f-cking need it.


One thought on “Misty Mahan Dantico.

  1. So one of your friends let me know that your writing about me. I wanted to let you know. This is the first time I’ve ever thought about you. Yes, that’s right, I could care less about you. But I did want to let you know that Facebook guidelines say if you are repeatedly reported for threatening and harassing people you will be removed. You were the one who did wrong not me.
    Leave me alone!

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