Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Heeding the advice, Porsche Man packed properly to deal with any type of weatherly elements. Confident and prepared to join the group where she was finishing off a successful commitment on top, tempting dream weaving thoughts, where a hardware presentation would be the final climax swirled in her mind. Deciding not to disclose her goals, she strategized the photogenic opportunity, staying humble, quiet and defensive during the Serbian experience where the American theatrical tease expected to strut away acknowledged ‘a knockout’.

“I look great in this white wintry ensemble,” she thought not having any goals except, disposing bitter attitude emotions.

Wanting true acceptance, securing knockout stage placing seemed a realistic achievement. Late in the diplomatic event Porsche Man pleaded when no flashy camera-friendly shots earned a goal cutline, “Tommy can you hear me?” And this question prompted a direct hit reserving a spot in the gig next year.

Upon arriving back home, Porsche Man hustled her way up the flat stairs and guarding the door, two men wearing suits. “We are representatives from the Crystal Palace,” one greeted.

“And we, Miss America would like to discuss your goals here in the English Premiere,” another continued.

“Well, let me get my keys out,” Porsche Man acknowledged, “and I can make us a cup of tea.”

“That will be fine,” the powerful businessman attire individuals stated.

Once inside things started Porsche Man turned the bubble machine warming up the pair trying a happily ever after distraction technique, “I hope you do not mind my theatrics,” she teased the Crystal Palace representatives.

“We know you are stars, stripes, spangled banner old glory,” one notified.

“And we wanted to make sure you had a goal today,”

Taking a seat, Porsche Man stared seriously in their eyes, “kudos,” she responded, “I have a goal.”

“Really early,” one observed.

“Do you think it will be enough?” Another questioned the situation.

This challenging commentary caught Porsche Man, shaking her stirred lifestyle, and deciding a break needed, Porsche Man went outside seeking courtyard refuge, pondering the situation and upon her return both Crystal Palace representatives stood there presenting the ‘I told you so,” smirk.

“We would like you to know,” they said in unison, “we have a goal.”

Watching helplessly the three points disappear from the live table, Porsche Man backed off, “we also wanted you to realize Miss America that Chelsea designed a beach stage recording studio and is belting out the blues, receiving goal level fulfillment.”

“Has she gotten the three points?” Porsche Man inquired.

Affirmatively, nodding, the Crystal Palace representatives felt confident getting a point across.

“Chelsea could put me out of the top ten,” Porsche Man worried realizing, the next couple days could send her to the first step bottom half. “Super-agent Brent Ford will be working the buzz visiting the beach,” one paused, “and at the same time, the British siren Chelsea has a date with the red devil, somewhere hot.”

“Pretty interesting gossip, Porsche Man,” another added.

“Well, I have an engagement with Lily White, planned,” Porsche Man protectively coiled.

Laughing, the Crystal Palace representatives decided departure moment arrived, “we love our time we spent together,” they thanked, “and wish you the best.”

“I will start getting more goals,” she promised closing the meeting’s door.

Feeling subdued, following all the excitement, Porsche Man toned down the bubble machine and collapsed onto the couch inside the living room. Understanding the reality about the Lily-White competitive interaction, the levelheaded Porsche Man worked her brain and hammered out something before being a dinner party guest.

Peacefully, relaxing, a brilliant idea came, “if I were to rent out cottages over the weekend, maybe enough goals will happen, and I would have a better standing in the top ten.”