Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Another knockout round assignment needed addressing and the west ham who was united Porsche Man claimed duty responsibility, as she departed the German international courtesy transportation, supplied by the event financiers.

Feeling really loose in the beginning, ready to confront her credibility she noticed the Brazilian beauty modeling shoot competitor defensive strategy, seemed working, resulting in no goals inserted onto the scoresheet.

“At this level, shouldn’t we have more goals?” Porsche Man seemed puzzled, questioning the true reason there weren’t any shots ending up destined for the net.

“Looks like I had the better leg,” the Brazilian Beauty commented about sporting ninety minutes.

“It takes two legs to succeed in this business,” Porsche Man dropped a hint, wanting to succeed playing the knockout stage.

“Maybe you only need one,” the Brazilian Beauty revealed the effects of war, and the message shook the star-spangled banner.

Arriving home Porsche Man unlocked the door, mumbling she was in the top ten and still had prestigious status. Turning the lights on before venturing into the kitchen, the busy schedule agenda individual peered out the window into the courtyard. Underneath the shining moonlight, a group of wolves were sitting patiently, preparing to take the position away from Porsche Man.

Grabbing a bottle, featuring a Claret wine label display, the tired lonely photogenic character tried salvaging the evening. Paper cup in hand, Porsche Man poured and pondered, reflecting about her last professional appearance.

“She was the first person, that challenged me and my beauty,” she gulped the drink, “she was friendly, very home loving when I visited, and her friendly hospitality attitude, such the inspiration.”

Staring into the red liquor’s eyes Porsche Man realized half a bottle disappeared reminding the theatrical tease she did not have any goals, despite being relaxed and tipsy due to the happy sensation streaming through her body. “That was your goal?” She tried sparking a conversation with the late-night companion, “that was your goal, wasn’t it?”

Continuing the slurring monologue entertaining the delightful escape, “you were friendly, home loving and hospitably kind which all equals up to, you have a goal.”

Putting her head on folded hands she came to another conclusion by confessing, “This was my doing I scored another goal for you,” she continued coming face to face with the claret spirit, “now what?”

Sitting back in the chair, “okay I can accept the Brazilian right now has a goal, but I am in the top ten, that cannot be taken away from me.”

Retrieving her cell phone, she googled ‘Men Of Brazil’ and found a goal when business style fashion prints featuring, famed athlete Lucas surfaced, “Oh, Lucas you are certainly a goal, let me save this picture for the future and use it when the Brazilian Beauty is a guest here in my house.”

As the bubbles floated around in celebration Porsche Man regained her stability, opening the screen. Missing were the wolves, ‘they must have assumed, not any time soon would they be stealing my spot,’ Porsche Man reasoned.

“That is right I am in the top ten,” Porsche Man screamed, “what happened? You got scared of getting stuck in my meadow trap? Huh!”

Turning around Porsche Man returned the Claret Wine to the cabinet, figuring she obtained her second goals leveling the match.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Porsche Man proceeded, answering the request. Acting surprised, there standing in the entry was the Brazilian Beauty.

“I know I have been drinking tonight,” Porsche Man honestly spoke, “but you are standing.”

“Maybe I have a second leg in me,” the Brazilian Beauty entered inspecting the confines, “Porsche Man, are you hammered?”

“Maybe,” Porsche Man started her bubble machine, “actually I am very festive, ready for you and your German army.”