That Mama Tone: An Effective Weapon Against Evil.

Not far from my home is a shopping/eating area with two grocery stores, several restaurants, one coffee shop, insurance company offices, sports and hardware and pool supplies stores, and more. The place stays busy. It has gotten busier since a company bought the complex and tidied it up to include a small grassy area that has proven popular with parents of small children waiting their turn to be called into the latest chi-chi biscuit restaurant that always has a waiting line. [“Chi-chi” means the food is usually meh but you look really cool waiting to be called in.]

My editor and I had taken a break and went to the new hamburger place whose burgers and fries are delish. We finished eating and are heading back to the parking lot. To get there from here meant passing the little grassy area. On this day there were two daddies playing with their sons, both around two years old.

Now, when my kids fell, I always hollered out “Oopsie!” and we would both go about our business. But this dad was way too solicitous for the kid’s good…and the kid knew it. So when Daddy Number One’s son fell on the grass, he rushed over to check him for grievous injury. The kid, not hurt in the least, was swatting his father’s hands away and generally attempting to get back to running in the circle that he loved so much.

The second boy decided this was a perfect time to haul ass toward the busy parking lot and haul ass he did. If you’ve never chased a two year old, you won’t know what I’m talking about. But I am here to tell you that they are fast. When my daughter was two, I turned my back to reach for the towel to dry her from her bath. Two seconds later I see her naked little boohiney turning the corner on the landing at the top of the stairs.

Somehow I just knew what she was going to do. Maybe it was her maniacal laugh that told me she was ready to streak the neighbors. My fears were confirmed when I saw the front door open and she was out the door and across the yard running for a busy street, arms in the air waving like this was the best fun ever.

I’m screaming for her to stop and running faster than I thought I could. Just as she reached the street on which a car was coming her way, I snatched her arm, jerking her out of harm’s way as the driver was throwing on his brakes and his mouth was making a big O and one hand was clutching his chest. Then, as I recovered from a heart attack, I began to whup her fat little bare breeches until they were rosy-red, the whole time screaming that she could’ve died and didn’t she see the car and such other things as parents used to holler to teach life-and-death lessons quickly. Well, let me tell you, she learned that lesson and never did that again. In fact, I saw her do it to both her kids who also learned the lesson in one take.

So, anyway, there we were, my editor and me. He, childless, and saying in a monotone as if he’s watching a movie, “You know that kid is gonna get killed. Boy, he’s fast.” Me, getting ready to take action because the father of the boy is sweetly and ineffectually saying, “Yoo-hoo, son o’ mine, it would be best if you would come on back here. Yoo-hoo! Produce of my loins, Daddy wants you to stop.” [The phrases son o’ mine and produce of my loins have been inserted for comedic affect because the man’s tone of voice just made me think that’s what he meant.]

Well, the kid simply ignored the owner of the loins from which he had sprung, that is to say Daddy, but since it was now crunch time and somebody had to do something so the EMTs wouldn’t have to be called and a funeral arranged, I hollered, “HEY!”

That kid stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward me still clutching his toy. Why, if he’d been a soldier he couldn’t have stood at attention any better. I said, “Your daddy told you to stop. Now you get on back over there.” I pointed toward Daddy.

Showing he knew an order when he heard it, the kid turned and walked toward his father who was now trying to get over a heart attack. Both the fathers stared at me at which point I said, “I’ve got The Mama Tone. You better learn how to use it.”

Staring at me equally as dumbfounded was my editor. I looked at him and said, “I’ve told you about the power of The Mama Tone. Now you’ve seen it in action.” He nodded, still speechless, and off we went.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this story. Simply because the world needs more of The Mama Tone (TMT). Not to use TMT is to deprive your children of care and love. (Yes, boyfriends, male workmates, and husbands all need it; TMT works almost as well on them, too, and I’ve written three novels, soon to be published, about the use of that tone in The Dance Floor Wars.)

Not using TMT is why we have seen the rise of the Pussy Hat Wearing Politically Correct Liberal Democrat RINO Socialist Fascist Commie Social Justice Warrior Do-Gooders (PHWPCLDRSFCSJWDGs) causing such troubles these days. (TMT is used to great affect in the fourth movie in the franchise, Matrix Resurrections. You should go see it, I kid you not.)

The Mama Tone is needed when we come across these PHWPCLDRSFCSJWDGs. Let me break down TMT for you. It matters not what words one speaks. What matters is that the tone convey the following:

One: There is no vagueness about the message.

Two: There is no ambiguity about the intent of the message.

Three: There is no mistaking the result of ignoring the message.

Four: You know I ain’t lying and it is in your best interest to heed such message.

In other words, The Mama Tone brooks no disagreement. All baby animals, in the wild or in the home, know The Mama Tone when their mothers use it. Saying things like “Mommy wants you to go to your room and think about what you’ve done” implies TMT is not being deployed and the child is not truly loved.

Can you use TMT online? Yes!

My latest use of TMT has been directed toward a company whose ads have been popping up all over Facebook. Doing business as MasterClass is one Yanka Industries, Inc., thus far registered in Texas and Tennessee as a Foreign For-Profit but with HQ in California (we are not surprised).

Maybe you’ve seen their ads featuring musicians, chefs, authors, actors, business people, etc.? I’m sure these master classes are all very well done, but…

Recently, they’ve been pushing former US President Bill Clinton and his wife, Hillary, the Wannabe US President. My first message was when I saw the ad for Hillary:

“Geez, Louise, MasterClass, first Bill ‘Where’s the la-a-a-a-aydees?’ Clinton and now Hillary ‘I’ve got my hit list and I’m checking it twice’ Rodham Clinton? Hey, is Soros using you to wash some bucks for him?”

Then up popped Bill’s ad to which I replied:

“Geez, Louise, MasterClass. Ol’ Billy teaches ‘inclusive leadership’? Really? Does his lesson include how to get away with rape? Does it include how to lie under oath? Does it include how to get your wife to order hits so your hands remain clean of the crimes? Does it include how to set up a multi-million dollar non-profit money laundering operation that only built maybe five houses in Haiti but using the monies to pay for a daughter’s wedding? And again, I ask: Is Soros funding the Clinton’s fee by running the money through your company?”

No, folks, I have not heard back from the company and no one has replied or otherwise offered any engagement to those posts that, for all I know, could’ve been deleted. If that is the case and those posts of mine have been deleted, then they are ignoring The Mama Tone because I am just one person, but all readers of that post will know that my use of The Mama Tone there deployed all four steps.

However, if MasterClass gets a lot of such posts featuring The Mama Tone, they’ll have to hire a seventh employee just to delete those posts every time they push Evil As A Master Class upon us. Hey, it’s a First Amendment right to use The Mama Tone.

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Thank you for participating in spreading thoughtful, insightful, common sense information by sharing this with your friends and social network! Born and raised in Georgia, Angela K. Durden is an author, publisher, editor, songwriter, performer, and more, living in the Metro Atlanta, Georgia, area.

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