Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Sifting through the daily mail piling up, a pamphlet left by Craven promoting his cottages fell out of the stack, haunting Porsche Man’s soul. Revisiting the advertisement, she pondered the resort style services and reflected about the point ‘Did she need the pampering to get goals?’.

Putting down reality’s honest message, the theatrical tease realized, “I may not have knockout status much longer, those late goals happened quickly and deflated my bubble.”

A ringing doorbell reminded Porsche Man, an eleven-company German representative from the model trade show she attended, invaded her higher tier success and was seeking a follow up discussion, ‘the second leg in the knockout process’.

Lowering her guard, she invited the agent like stranger, into the private residence, “first time in London,” he started, “and wondered, if you still wanted goals?”

Taken back hearing the plight the photogenic worker seriously debated whether her goal status was the German eleven companies’ business. Then surrendering the information, Porsche Man explained until distracted. “Okay, it is early,”

Getting up, going to the back screen door, she saw her goal in the courtyard, “Antonio, what are you doing here?”

“Heard you needed, a goal,” Antonio mentioned.

“Come,” Porsche Man greeted, “come on in.”

When Antonio entered the kitchen, he saw the guest sitting peacefully, “I do need another goal to continue the knockout status path.”

For most the meeting’s first half the two tried applying pressure but no goals evolved, and this problem persisted during the next forty-five minutes. Tension mounted and Antonio nearly found himself kicked out, defending Porsche Man’s honor. Reliving the previous engagement last week the hour grew late, and the German contingent showed another goal. “I hate to tell you,” the suit wearing bottom line obsessed individual announced, “I have a goal, leveling our time here.”

“That is all right, Antonio,” Porsche Man calmed her goal partner, “it is a headache being a knockout and I can let this go.”

Walking away the German left four Bayer aspirin, “for you headache.” Silenced, Porsche Man desperately expressed, ‘thank you’ and the German laughed, “it does have a side effect you won’t be able to be Julie Bowen.”

“That is all right, I can sacrifice, Julie Bowen, since I have you to get goals, Antonio,”

Days passed and Porsche Man fulfilled her morning headache relief commitment taken the prescribed Bayer amount, “I can do this,” she confidently stated into the mirror then found a nice attractive white uniform, “I am Porsche Man, not Julie Bowen.”

Grabbing her purse, fluffing up the innocent image Porsche Man left the flat behind going directly to the Palace, and confront the goal issue. When she arrived, the government mansion had that festive atmosphere, and she noticed a few models hired by the eleven-company promotional event.

“Two, four, six, eight, I am here to set things straight,” she acknowledged the cheerleading group.

“Good luck, Porsche Man,” they answered in unison.

Entering the chambers, a bald eagle sat behind the desk, “if it isn’t an American looking for goals.”

“I thought I could get them here,” Porsche Man responded.

It did not take long, and the bald eagle posted four goals.

Searching her pocketbook, Porsche Man retrieved the plastic bottle and popped a pill, “I need a break,” she squirmed, “but first, Antonio.”

Appearing in the mist a vision, “I have a goal for you, is one going to be enough? This Crystal Palace place maybe relegated.”

Glaring a frustrated expression Porsche Man, requested, “I need three more!”

“Well, take a break and we will figure something out,” Antonio suggested. A few minutes later they returned only to be greeted by the bald eagle sending a fifth goal.

Leaving the complex battered and beaten the star-spangled tattered banner strolled by her modeling colleagues, “eight, nine, ten, eleven,” the contingent exclaimed, “total goals scored were seven.”

Turning around Porsche Man addressed the brewing situation, “I had two goals,”

“We scored one for you,” they smirked.

Darkness fell upon the United Kingdom and Porsche Man reached her home. Unlocking the door she quickly entered the sleeping quarters, collapsing on the bed. Ceiling staring, she realized, “I have the boys from the band coming first thing, next weekend, and I do not have any goals, what’s a West Ham United hammer girl supposed to do.”