It was at 2:15pm on a Thursday in 1984, in the dead still of an august heat wave, when Mortimer Spänket first discovered a phenomenon that would inextricably change society for the remainder of human existence. Mortimer, a 38-year old CPA with dark-rimmed bifocals and thin, auburn strands that tried in vain to cover his near-bald crown, was building an oak chest for his brother when he struck scientific gold. While moving a sawhorse from one end of the garage to the other, the awkward manner in which it was carried chafed the inseam of his favorite corduroy pants. After he set the sawhorse down, he noticed something strange about his body: he had an erection. Mortimer had not experienced one of these since Rebecca, his wife of seven years and the love of his life, left him for Bill Northrup, their Schwann’s delivery man.
The ideas surged through his simple mind, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “When the sawhorse rubbed against me, the feeling was faintly reminiscent but thoroughly enjoyable,” he thought. Upon further experimentation, he discovered that massaging himself triggered a physiological response similar to intercourse with his former wife.
Mortimer quickly realized the advantages of this activity. What freedom, he surmised, in being able to enjoy that same feeling without having to suffer Rebecca’s innumerable excuses and demands. “Where was this ten years ago,” he quipped to Lemmy, the persnickety tabby cat he purchased six years before from the local PetSmart. It was something everyone could enjoy regardless of gender or race. This was a universal cure-all, a Chicken Soup for the Lonely, with no risk necessary for the reward. He knew deep in his heart that once people saw how easy this was to perform, they too would adopt this amazing routine and utilize it to find peace in their lives as well. And that maybe, just maybe, he would be recognized for this monotony-shattering invention. Fame was something Mortimer had always daydreamed about but never once considered. “Just imagine…” he pondered, but Lemmy never broke concentration from the birds outside his kitchen window.
Unfortunately for Mortimer, he was neither a man of authority nor influence. From birth, he matured well behind universal standards. Bethany Dinkleman ridiculed him in front of the entire class 3rd grade class when he asked her if she had “an ouchie”; the spot was actually a birthmark, a fact even Stinky Andy knew, and no one talked to Stinky Andy. It took him until junior year of high school before he successfully tied his shoes without reciting “loop, swoop, and pull” aloud. Though never clinically diagnosed, he was generally regarded as slow.
Now living alone in the modest, ranch-style two-bedroom he and Rebecca bought after their honeymoon, Mortimer maintained a quiet life separate from the denizens of Pine Valley, a bustling suburb in Eastfield, IL., where Mortimer had lived his entire life. How was he, a portly man prone to crippling anxiety attacks, to tell the world of his creation when his voice was softer than a mouse’s and no one in the universe knew he existed, let alone the good people of Pine Valley? His only chance was to convince Chad Young, Eastfield High’s 1963 football standout and Mortimer’s former nemesis, to adopt his innovation and help him spread the word. But this would not be an easy pill to swallow.
His hesitation was justified: From fall of 1960 until graduation in June of 1964, Chad Young had found new ways of terrorizing Mortimer daily. The memories of these teenage pranks bored deep into his psyche, leaving scars that slowly reopened throughout his adult life. To make matters worse, Chad had not suffered the “former high school jock” fate portrayed on television. Instead he exceeded his athletic expectations by crushing NCAA rushing records before an MCL tear ended his career, then amassing a small fortune by way of successful investments. He and his wife, Erica, owned the largest house in Pine Valley, a six-bedroom estate perched atop Simon’s Hill facing southeast, soaking in all the morning sun 3.5 perfectly-groomed acres can. In fact, that previous May, Chad was the first Apple Macintosh owner in Pine Valley. By July, every house from Sparrow St. to Brookside Ave. had one.
Mortimer cringed knowing his fortune lay entwined with Chad’s. If his message were to ever reach beyond the okra-colored walls of his bedroom, it needed to ride on the booming, cocksure baritone that Chad maintained with admirable consistency, from the Life of God church pews on Sunday to the Eastfield High booster seats on Saturday he and Erica possessed lifetime tickets to.
With every ounce of resolve he could muster, Mortimer approached the motorized gate that ushered visitors to and from the Young’s home and requested a moment of Chad’s time from the intercom. Once through the gate and trekking the 100-yard driveway, he realized he had yet to name his invention. “I must be remembered,” he averred in his newfound confidence. “Spänket is too weird. Perhaps an Americanized version will suffice…” And with that, Spank It™ was born.
Chad listened in silent discomfort as Mortimer began explaining his adopted maneuver. Though the awkwardness of the situation was palpable, his keen eye for investment potential twitched. There was no denying the significance Spank It held for the future. In a flurry of brilliance and horror, Chad’s den became a lab for experimentation that all but sealed their destiny. Covered in sweat and painted with the grins of a mad scientist, they agreed to not shake hands until tomorrow, and from that day forward their mission was to share this beautiful discovery with the residents of Pine Valley, just as Prometheus delivered fire to the people of Olympus.
Chad wasted no time in disseminating his message, first inviting the Rochman’s over for dinner Friday night, and then the Hornicker’s on Saturday. He knew that with the right introduction, as well as a bottle or two of Eastfield Market’s finest cabernet sauvignon, these couples would use their tremendous reach and influence to pass on the bliss of Spank It.
Cyrus and Dinah Rochman, both successful podiatrists and social butterflies in Eastfield’s nightlife, were never without the latest trends, as indicated that summer by their purchase of the newly debuted Sony Compact Disc Player. Tom and Judy Hornicker owned Hornicker Hardware Supply on the corner of Maple and Huxely. Tom was renowned for similarities in look (and dress) to Magnum P.I.’s Tom Selleck. Judy, an athletic blonde with family ties to President Reagan, would curiously develop a Nordic accent after her third glass of wine. By Monday morning, both the Rochman’s and Hornicker’s would Spank It with delight. Come September, all of Pine Valley’s prominent couples were “Spanking It”.
The rest of Eastfield was unsure just what was happening in Pine Valley. Hearthwood Hills residents heard through the gossip mill (A.K.A. Arcadia Sun Yacht Club) that Pine Valley folks had “flipped their collective lids” over some new dance they would not disclose the moves to. However, the rural commoners of Norwood had a far different understanding. Sally Bergenheim told everyone before Sunday mass at Our Lady of Perpetual Jealousy, the largest Catholic Church in Eastfield, that everyone in Pine Valley was possessed by demons, effectively directing 97% of that weekend’s prayers toward its inhabitants.
With confusion and misinformation flooding the minds of their small, Northern Illinois community, Mortimer and Chad realized there was more work to be done. With all of Pine Valley fully assimilated to Spank It, it was now time to quell the fears discomforting the rest of Eastfield. That October evening, the two men devised a plan: a publicity stunt, which by today’s standards seems ordinary, but in the prudish Midwest of 1984 was downright insane. They planned an elegant gala that would double as the public debut for Spank It.
Invitations were sent to all corners of Eastfield, bringing only the most influential people of each neighborhood to the historic event at Pine Valley’s Community Center. Every suburb was represented: from the cream of cosmopolites in Hearthwood Hills (including the annoying-but-filthy rich Roose couple), to the more progressive families of the Norwood farming district. There was all the music, food, and ado of an average black-and-white affair, but the highlight of that evening would be its guest of honor: Mortimer, the ordinary man with an extraordinary message. “Spank it.”
Chad confidently took the Robert P. Chast memorial stage, tapped the microphone twice to gather attention, and then began his presentation by disclosing the evening’s true purpose. Disgust swept over the crowd like food poisoning. The mob was outraged, screaming at Chad to leave the stage and repent. Chad reeled in confusion, stunned at the visceral, violent reaction to something he considered simple and perfect. In that moment, his first taste of repugnance, Chad finally understood why Mortimer was who he was. Being subjected to four years to public humiliation day after day forced him to form the protective bubble he had lived in since high school; a protective layer between himself and the world he was convinced hated his very existence. Chad finally realized Mortimer was broken, and that it may have been his fault.
Just as the hostility reached a fevered pitch, Mortimer burst onto the stage wearing nothing more than argyle trouser socks, his best Sunday loafers, and a layer of sweat that could be seen from Chicago. The crowd fell silent, startled by the stout, bare-naked man before them. He knew this was his only chance to convince the proud people of Eastfield that his discovery, Spank It, was the revolutionary concept he believed it to be. Right then and there, at 9:16pm on a brisk November evening, Mortimer Spänket held the first-ever, public demonstration of Spank It.
Not a soul in attendance ever spoke of that night, the gala, or what they saw on the Robert P. Chast memorial stage. The rumors of what happened following Mortimer’s daring feat twisted and turned through Illinois until they took on a life of their own. One thing was for sure, though: the night was a smashing success. Within one year of the gala, everyone in America was hooked on Spank It. Mortimer became a hero overnight, proudly accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986 for Spank It‘s role in the reductions of global atrocities and creation of new international treaties.
Mortimer remained in that modest, two-bedroom house on Pine Valley’s northwest side. Eastfield had always been his home, and he was finally able to live there free of fear and regret. He and Chad regularly met for coffee and chess, their past awash in a sea of bygones. The shades to his living room window were no longer drawn permanently shut, allowing every passing neighbor to wave to him with genuine delight. Content with the strange luck fate had dealt him, Mortimer spent his remaining days in front of that window, completing the daily crossword puzzle or skimming the local newspaper. He had been given a very special gift, and in turn selflessly gave that gift to the rest of the world. Although most of the rumors about the 1984 Pine Valley Gala were false, one was unequivocally true: from that night on, Mortimer never went another day without smiling. Lemmy gently purred in approval.
