Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Fixing the fashionable fedora, complementing a satirical American smile, Porsche Man confidently prepared herself realizing this was only a high-profile appearance and she just had to play along. “I am going down and visit the citizens,” she expressed applying lipstick, “and there is no chance my finish will be below the top ten.”

Venturing out the door the star-spangled colonists sporting a successful banner arrived noticing the city grounds sparkled with excitement. “It must be a party,” Porsche Man investigated the festive arena.

“We are on top of the world looking down on creation as you colonists enthusiastically used to belt out,” a citizen sung, displaying light sky friendly blue colors.

Porsche Man quickly came to terms, not only did the citizens prove one goal but a second energized party goers, giving them top spot English Premiere status security.

“Two goals, they are taking care of business,” Porsche Man paused, “on a Sunday.”

“Such a lovely chapeau,” a stranger approached her, “you should have been a model.”

Porsche Man kindly defended, “I am an American theatrical tease,”

“A West Ham,” acknowledged a spectator.

“From the United States,” Porsche Man made clear.

Fending off the masses Porsche Man felt strong and independent declaration spirit flowed through her bones.

“Yes, I came here to Great Britain and made the top ten,” she pondered, proclaiming proudly about an achievement honor bestowed, “that is Kudus for me, and I will make that today’s single goal.”

As the second forty-five minutes unfolded Porsche Man saw an unsettling development, a potential undermining to a celebration. Apparently, the gunners with arsenal did not want to see the citizens toast the champions for a fourth time and maneuvered into position.”

“Psst, Porsche Man,” a uniformed officer tried to get her attention, “if you have another goal in you, well,”

“Well, what?”

“We could steal the trophy and those flags hanging from its hardware.”

Shooting off a sharp glare, cunning Porsche Man, conjured up, her Julie Bowen character but the goal-oriented trick did not emerge, producing a tearful choke up reaction.

“What happen Porsche Man? Did your Julie Bowen gimmick get handed a speechless rejection?” An invisible satirical comment originating from peanut’s gallery created a debate filled with reality.

Suddenly, a third citizens goal developed hinting towards the gunners, ‘please disappear, retreat, change priorities, your future prestigious engagements demand attention’.

Seeing things conclude Porsche Man honestly pondered, “what do I want beyond top ten bragging rights?”

Days passed and Porsche Man plopped into an airline’s economy section seat, “you are going across the pond? Porsche Man,” the approaching steward inquired.

“Yup, taking my top ten status and going home,”

“Good luck,” the steward replied, “hope this experience will make you a better person.”

A mature business entrepreneur greeted the real estate person in front of a ‘for rent’ sign, announcing Porsche Man’s former home was searching for change.

“Miss Kia welcome,” the property broker greeted, “this is the famed West Ham flat,”

“Yes,” Kia Ford replied, “I am excited seeing the lot, not just the picture portfolio.”

“Let’s go inside,” and the pair proceeded through the doors.

“Wow a bubble machine,” Kia Ford observed, “did the former renter use it much?”

“Only when she had goals,”

“May I ask, who the former tenant was?”

“Porsche Man, a top ten model actress, she really performed successfully.”

“Yes, Porsche Man, I remember when she was a little girl, came into my agency wanting goals.”

Proceeding down the hallway they encountered a goal shrine that Porsche Man created before leaving, “look it’s Julie Bowen,” Kia Ford pointed out, “she and Julie Bowen always went at it, very competitive in obtaining goals.”

Giggling at the scene the house escort inquired, “are you interested?”

Taking a decision making second, Kia Ford emphatically stated, “when can I move in?”

“August 17,” allowing another hammer girl to establish residency in jolly old England.