Sunday Night’s Alright for Shit Fan fiction II

Yep – Sunday night has rolled around again, and that means its time for me to trawl the depths of fanfiction.net to find you some more shithouse fan fiction.

Looking through the ‘Happy Days’ section, I came across a nice little story that hooked me in with the following synopsis.

Something's seriously wrong with Potsie, and if Richie (and others) don't figure it out soon, it may be too late...

I should also offer a language warning and suggest that you put the kids to bed before reading this – Potsie does say fuck once or twice.

The Art of Drowning

Potsie stared out his window. It wasn’t like he had a great view, in fact all he saw was the side of his neighbour’s house from his second-story bedroom. But he wasn’t really looking at anything, just staring and trying his best not to think. If he started to think, he started to feel, and emotion wasn’t on his side lately.

So in order to avoid such a pesky thing as thought, he stared at the bricks on his neighbour’s house. And it almost worked. The problem was, as soon as he got his mind good and blank, one little thought would worm itself into his mind without his consent.

He was in the process of emptying his head when he heard his name being shouted.

“WARREN!” It was his father. He subconsciously bit his lip. This could be bad…

“TELEPHONE!” Potsie relaxed. He hadn’t heard the phone ring. Just a phone call. He wondered whether or not he should answer it, then decided, hey, if worse comes to worse he could always hang up. He reached for his phone and picked up the receiver.

“Yeah?” He said flatly.

“Potsie, it’s me,” Richie said.

“Oh. Hi Rich.”

“Listen, Potsie. I’ve talked to Fonzie-”

Potsie hung up.

Even if it was his best friend calling, he didn’t want to hear about Fonzie. At all. He’d just spent the better part of an hour trying not to think about him, and boom, his own best friend throws it in his face.

The phone rang, just as he knew it would. He also knew it was Richie, but he picked it up anyway. “Yeah.” he answered.

“Potsie, don’t do that! You need to hear this, okay? Trust me. Promise you won’t hang up again?”

“No, but I’ll try not to,”

A pause. “Okay, fine. Listen. I talked to Fonzie, and he feels bad for what he said earlier.”

Potsie scoffed.

“No, really Potsie.” Richie always believed everything Fonzie said, Potsie thought. Richie pressed on. “He was just upset, you know, with everything that happened with his bike, and then what you said just pushed him over the edge.”

“Okay, whatever.”

“Potsie! That’s almost an apology! And you know Fonzie hates saying he’s sorry.”

“Well, maybe that’s his problem, huh? Maybe he needs to get over himself. He’s always been vain and self-centered, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of him treating me like I’m subhuman, like I’m not up to his level. And his ego is inflated partially because people like you are always sucking up to him! Oh Fonzie, you’re so cool! You’re the best, Fonzie! I can always count on you, Fonzie! Just because I said what I really thought, all of a sudden I’m a lowlife? Fuck that, Richie.”

Silence. “Potsie-” Richie started, stunned.

Potsie hung up once again. This time the phone didn’t ring.


I think that there is something in that for all of us.

Please find attached your complimentary colour-cut-out-and-keep Fonzie for every reader.