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“Sit on it, Potsie!”
Squatting, Potsie lowered himself onto Fonzie’s massive Italian engine, first gripping its head with his sphincter and then, once it was secure, driving the rest home. As usual, Potsie had his class cardigan draped around his neck. Improvising, he picked up the sleeves between his teeth and held them there like a riding harness, looking over his shoulder at Fonzie for approval. Fonzarelli gave the sweater a couple of good hard yanks to let Potsie know who was in control. Then he put his hands behind his head and watched ol’ Pots go to work. For a nerd, the kid sure could drive stick.
But The Fonz couldn’t relax. He knew that somewhere Mr. C. was lurking around his garage apartment, looking in a window, maybe. Mr. C. was a jealous and insensitive lover.
Suddenly, Fonzie realized that his hair might be out of place. He checked it in the ceiling mirror: yup, if he could just move one strand over to the left… Thinking the better of it, he shrugged his shoulders at the perfection of his own image and said, “Ayyyyy!”
Meanwhile, Potsie was really making a mess of things on his lap. The nerd was gripping the iron rail footboard with both hands and shaking the whole bed with each thrust. Fine. The problem was, the little ceramic Eiffel Tower that Fonzie had attached to the headboard was rattling around pretty hard. Shortcake had bought it for him on her trip to Paris, and he was afraid it would chip. If she saw her gift even slightly damaged, it would break her little heart.
That Joanie sure loved tchotchkes.
Date Written: March 27, 2003
Average Vote: 3.75