Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Only a few weeks had passed since Porsche Man lost her knockout status and after a festive engagement featuring the boys in the band the American theatrical tease realized the successful lifestyle slipping away. During the community get together, rumors surfaced that a blues singing extravaganza over at Chelsea’s pad was taken shape.

Coming off the happy go lucky backyard music concert, Porsche Man pocketed her two goals and strategized the week.

“I am in the top ten,” Porsche Man paused, “here.”

Getting her act together the working hammer girl hustled over to Stamford Bridge, where they were waging the vocal battle. Seeing long audition lines, Porsche Man gripped her eight and half by eleven photograph along with a homemade demo tape.

During the tedious wait she tended to cell phone chores and soon found herself confronting the registration table.

“What is your name?” The receptionist asked, inspecting the eight-track cassette.

“Porsche Man,” she answered, “The West Ham United.”

“The what?”

“I have a hammy personality and hail from the west,”

“Oh, you are a West Ender,”

“No, the United States,” she corrected.

“Sorry, Chevy Levy this event is only for Unionized European members,”

Feeling like a fish out of water Porsche Man pleaded, “don’t you want to listen?”

Taking control, the volunteer interrupted, pointing due east, “um, we only listen to tapes made at the Abbey down the road.”

Retreating Porsche Man could count the seconds before five performers wearing blue suits occupied the area, “we are the Five Goals,” they introduced themselves.

“Chelsea lads?”

“Born and raised,” they proclaimed.

“And you sing the blues, I see,” the clerical check in person confirmed,

“That is right,” they clarified.

“Go right in,”

Departing the two-hour thrill ride style excursion Porsche Man realized she had no goals, “Five Goals, such an interesting name,” she thought traveling slowly down the sidewalk.

Then it dawned on her four boys dressed in blue acknowledging they had goals seemed pretty marketable.

“Of course they were “Unionized European members,” she concluded opening the door.

Once inside bypassing the bubble machine retrieving a refrigerated cold beverage before turning the television on, quickly Porsche Man came upon “Chelsea Singing The Blues” while pushing certain buttons. Unlike seven days ago when everyone enjoyed themselves in Porsche Man’s courtyard a very melo Chelsea sung the blues.

“That was nice,” Porsche Man commentated taking a sip.

“Now,” the television announced, “we would like to introduce, Five Goals.”

As the crowd inside the climate control studio went crazy Porsche Man seemed impressed, “I can now fairly allow Chelsea a better table position.”

When the masses handed over all their votes, ‘Five Goals’ were declared winners, “champions of what?” Porsche Man grogged with a tired slur, “kicking things around, getting goals?”

Credits scrolled cueing a black screen followed by, “are you looking to stay in the top ten?”

Half asleep Porsche Man affirmatively responded, “Do you want to enhance your look?”

Repeating the positive motion Porsche Man continued listening, “then you can call me for a visit, I am Mr. Luton, the Mad Hatter and I am having my relegation sale, I will not only give you promotional news worthy window dressing goals but yes a new hat for your premier league dates next year.”

“That would be nice a hat for my Premiere dates,” Porsche Man plotted.

Just call 1-800-Luton and book an appointment. Finding her cell phone Porsche Man dialed the number and requested Mr. Luton.

“Can you come over next Saturday,” she requested.

Hearing an agreement Porsche Man hung up and despite her star-spangled banner being tattered the entertainer still felt like a winner.