Angel’s Guardian Angel (from the Give til it Hurts fundraiser) entered this fun story for the Future Spank contest – enjoy!
“The Spanker” (a satirical homage)
by “Guardian Angel”
He had watched the series too often to count. A Twilight Zone marathon this week. Marathon. A winner in the long run, even though it was prematurely cancelled. Relegated to the network graveyard in 1964. But reborn because all good things do not come to an end.
He was viewing the final-season episode entitled “The Brain Center at Whipple’s”. Not a classic, but prescient for the present year 2164.
The titular character Whipple owned a factory that was in its downsizing phase. Whipple was firing workers and replacing them with machines. In the end, technology led to the undoing of Whipple. Who was bitter and alone.
Like Whipple, he despised technology. He looked to his left, cursing it. The machine. Piece of crap! Two centuries after “Whipple’s” aired, technology was still the bane of his existence.
And “piece of crap” was also an idiomatic expression two centuries later. For him, an appropriate criticism of The Spanker. The inexpensive version of The Spanker that he purchased was of poor quality. And, therefore, was prone to repairs. He called the company to complain. Help was on the way. He cursed the company that manufactured The Spanker, cursed the company that sold The Spanker, cursed The Spanker and cursed The Spanker’s absent repairman.
He was impatiently biding his time until the service representative arrived. He glanced at the time indicator on his wrist for the fifth time.
Fifty-five minutes later, the highly-anticipated chime. He was in a foul mood. When he opened the front door, his eyes widened. Surprisingly, the repairperson was a female wearing a baseball-like cap with the company name emblazoned on it. She removed the cap and issued the textbook apology. But before she could introduce herself, he voiced his first complaint to her.
“Ikea sells crap!”
“Hi! Here for The Spanker. Where is it?”
He indicated to his left.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is: Ikea sells crap.”
“Yeah, I hear that … often … only recently.”
She fascinated him. She had a no-nonsense quality about her, an openness, an intelligence in her eyes, beauty and wit. What the hell was she doing with a job like this? “This”, of course, was repairs.
The complaints continued.
“Ages ago, Ikea sold crap furniture that had to be assembled. Now Ikea sells crap machinery with a diagram included. Crap furniture, crap technology. Crap.”
“If The Spanker is still under warranty …”
“I purchased this piece of crap last week!” He interrupted her which is what she couldn’t tolerate. He produced the receipt and forced it into her hand.
She thought, Crap, huh. As in, I’d like to beat the crap out of you. Now, now, she reflected, the customer is always right. But I’d still like to beat the crap out of him.
“Yeah, I can see that from the receipt. As it clearly indicates.” He was aware of the sarcasm.
“So, the company will replace it, right?”
“Gotta take a look, first.”
Minutes later, she was finished with her analysis. “There’s nothing wrong with The Spanker. Just wasn’t assembled correctly.” She looked into his eyes. Make me an offer. Nothing is free, pal.
“Can you get it running?”
“Yeah, but it’ll cost you for the service. A faultily assembled product is not the company’s fault, capish?”
She had braced herself for another complaint. “Okay, just do it. But it better work! I’m a lab technician, not a handyman!” The last word was said with disdain. A wicked smile from her, he noticed. I like her. Don’t get a chance to use my bratty nature enough with females.
She thought simultaneously. It’ll work all right. And then I’ll unleash The Spanker on you. You piece of crap!
She had a beautiful smile, though devilish. And she was extremely personable. Additional assets. She enjoyed chatting while working.
“S-o-o-o, The Spanker! A best seller. Said that, way back, spanking was underground. Then technology made the disciplinarians … or spankers … obsolete. Shame.” The last word was intended to be personal. It was what he sorely … literally and figuratively … needed. Discipline.
He was studying her and not her skill as a mechanic. Impressive!! Front and behind! Hair a bit disheveled. Almost wind-blown. “Is it windy outside, or did you use the washer and drier on your hair?” He stupidly snickered. The inappropriate comment disoriented her, and the wrench slipped from her hand.
“Just having fun. No, really. You should have your hair cut professionally. A Tinkerbell look. Without the bun. From Peter Pan, you know. To shape your face. And … darken the color.”
“Y–e–a–h. I’ll consider it.” I will definitely be present when he tries to use The Spanker … to beat the crap out of him.
“Okay, done,” she announced. “Hey, lookie here! A wooden horse! Tell you what, let’s get you on the horse and move The Spanker behind you.” He felt excited at the prospect that she would be a part of product testing.
“Now, I’m only agreeing because we want to see if The Spanker works properly before you leave, right?”
She pictured her future. An image of where she would be in the next half hour and how he would help her achieve her goal. To beat the crap out of him!
“Wait! Full effect, right?” She slowly unloosened and removed his belt. She studied the belt and folded it in half. “Hmm!” She wiggled it back and forth. Not stiff enough … for him. She began to work on his pants and quickly lowered them, almost as if pulling a rug from under him. The speed of the motion disoriented him. His pants fell to the floor. “Step out of them!” she ordered and he obeyed. Good boy, she thought and smiled. “Climb aboard!” Another order.
He raised himself on the horse and maneuvered into a jockeying position. She studied him. “Hmm! Let’s give it the full effect, why don’t we!” She used all the straps affixed to the horse to secure his arms and his legs and his chest.
“Is this necessary?” he asked with doubt and the beginning of fear in his voice.
“Oh, ab–so–lutely!” She felt confident and, as importantly, in control.
She returned to The Spanker and pushed it to a position behind him. She found the box with specially designed attachments for The Spanker. And inserted one. “Hmm!” She started the machine and moved a lever. He screamed at the impact.
“Just as I suspected. The Spanker works, but it’s too intense for you … now. Guess you’ll have to gradually build to a certain tolerance level.” Had he read the entire manual, the instructional booklet would have informed him about tension adjustments. She formulated, and would now enact, Plan B.
“But I was expecting to use it today!!” Said like a disappointed child.
“Well, we might be able to accommodate you, after all.” You piece of crap!
She looked askance. “Hey, is that a lab coat?!” She retrieved it. “It fits!” She extracted her hand phone from her pocket and placed it at a distance. “For posterity. Who knows … someone may be curious about the 22nd century. And we have an artifact. Archived.”
She looked directly into the lens of the phone and smiled with an expression that said, Payback is a bitch, you piece of crap! She spoke authoritatively.
“What we have here is a piece of crap. Correction: two pieces of crap. Won’t show you what The Spanker can’t do. But I will demonstrate what our generation is missing. A good, old-fashioned hands-on experience. First, a warm-up. Something this machine is unable to do.”
She walked behind him. “No warm-up from The Spanker, right? Don’t think so. But a warm-up from this spanker.” With his rear end raised, she delivered a few hard, well-placed swats. “Good thing I play handball without gloves.” He groaned. She looked into the lens and smiled. “He agrees.”
His voice quaked. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Aw! Poor baby doesn’t realize that I only started. Warm-up, remember? Warm-up to be continued … Now!” She lowered his underwear, baring flesh, and swung with rapidity in the same spot. All hits precisely placed. Hey, I’m a natural!
“Are we finished?” The tone in his elevated voice registered extreme pain.
“Yes, … with my hand … for now.” The words were carefully separated … for effect. “I think I’ll test all of the products that Ikea has conveniently provided for us. What have we here?”
The first implement seemed ineffective. No discernible response. She casually tossed it aside and chose another. The smacks ranged from intense to highly intense. His body began to spasm, even when restrained. That’s what I want to see!! “Be still!” she commanded as if addressing a child. Which is how she perceived him. She looked at the lens and shook her head sideways. “Newbie!”
She picked up a hard, wooden object. “Now, take a d–e–e–p breath. Inhale. Hold it!” The intensity and swiftness of the strokes froze his brain. He did remember hearing the word “exhale”. She cooed sweetly and softly, “T–h–a–t’s good.” Pinched his cheeks, studied the affected areas and smiled mischievously into the lens. He mumbled inaudibly. She playfully tapped his back twice with the pain-providing apparatus. “Are you swearing? No swearing allowed!” He had said, “Bitch is crazy!”
By the time she concluded the session, he was as red as a beet. And his face was flushed. She studied her handiwork with the attention of an artist admiring the finished canvas. Even coloration. Mission accomplished: beating the crap out of a piece of crap. Think I’ll quit my day job. Got Ikea’s list of dissatisfied, potential customers. A start. This work fits me like this lab coat. The lab coat! “Mind if I keep the lab coat?” No verbal complaint, but a moan. Or was it a groan? “Didn’t think so.”
After she unfastened the restraints, he almost slithered to the floor.
She extended her left hand, palm up, open. Left-handers were once perceived as sinister. “Two deposits, please. Tribute as a tribute.” He complied. Worth paying her … to depart.
With a spring in her step, she walked in the direction of the door, thanking him for his advice. A makeover would complement her change of profession.
“Oh, and I am, as of now, officially a spanker, not a repairperson.” She remembered the “handyman” and washer/drier cracks. “And, in your case, a disciplinarian, as well, brat. And … when we meet again, which you can count on, you can thank me.” She emphasized the words “count” and “thank” which perplexed him. But he would count and thank her upon command at future encounters.
That day, she and he were transformed. Both realized that technology had severe limitations. It lacked human contact, finesse and an understanding of body language and needs with or without words or sounds. And a wicked sense of humor. Their connection was mutually satisfying. Even though if asked now, he would probably spew expletives and complaints. But he would begin to miss her. That bond between two people had a price. It would again be referred to as “tribute”. A word she thought she coined. It was, however, … without her knowledge … in her ancestral blood.