Kia Ford: The Hammer Girl's English Premiere Production

When Kia Ford arrived home with the Peacock, sweet Toffee information circulated throughout the housing development reporting the tricky trees' theatrical setting was producing whole big budget picture results.

“Interesting,” the Peacock commentated, “those foresters are selling their marketable product.”

“Springtime then summer, Peacock,” Kia Ford, an all-American united west ham replied, “that equation tallies up, instigating cash registers choregraphed song and dance routines with people loving being challenged, confronting tricky trees.”

“True,” the Peacock agreed, distracted when the door chimed encouraging the trusting promotional fowl sidekick ‘open the entry, reveal Boyle Sports’ slotty appearance’, “is Kia Ford here?” Inquired the English Premiere Estates property owner.

“Kia Ford,” the Peacock exclaimed, “your sponsor is here.”

“BS my sponsor? Peacock, he’s my landlord,” Kia Ford clarified, “what can I do for you Mr. BS?”

“Come to check goal difference issues,” Boyle Sports explained, “apparently it could be a major factor discussing relegation.”

“Well, BS, right now relegation is in my rearview mirror,”

“Yes, I see that,” Boyle Sports commented, “but the problem is plaguing red carpet stars such as Lily White and the celebrity spur friendly features.”

“Honestly, Lily White will like it down there; they now have wolves and claret wine,” Kia Ford mumbled making sure no one heard the statement.

“What!” Boyle Sports bellowed.

“She meant, Lily Ford may want to take on no or low budget projects,” the Peacock apologized.

Standing up, Boyle Sports checked his pocket time piece suit accessary, “day is half over,” he observed, “do you have any goals?”

Showing an innocent image, Kia Ford responded, “Mr. BS, no I do not have any goals.”

Emotionally effected, Kia Ford tearfully left the conversation, feeling cornered, taking hallway cover where the Bowen Shrine seeking attention, needed an enthusiasm kick, “Tommy, can you hear me?” Cried the Hammer Girl.

Immediately, the conjuring request presented a goal, “thank you Tommy,” Kia Ford gracefully applauded, returning towards the dining area meeting.

“A goal,” Boyle Sports grinned, “I am impressed.”

“It will keep me out of relegation,” Kia Ford admitted watching Boyle Sports reach for Toffee.

“Where did you get the candy?”

“Hope Park,” the Peacock informed, “bought the stash from students inside Dewsbury Hall.”

“Nice to know Everton has a goal,” Boyle Sports noted seeing a concerned red flush engulf the Peacocks' featherily beauty.

Quietly following her streaming and dreaming wing bird, Kia Ford questioned the shocking behavior after finding a private place, “Peacock, are you all right?”

“Kia Ford, we are back in the relegation territory aimlessly walking around.”

“What?” Kia Ford gasped.

“Despite your goal, something happened?”

“Call, um, Mr. Wilson,” Kia Ford suggested knowing she had dependable contacts.

Retrieving a cell phone, the Peacock tapped speed dial and using extra time Mr. Wilson’s goal delivered, promptly at the perfect moment.

“Both Tommy and Mr. Wilson performed excellent service today,” Kia Ford praised.

“Yeah, surviving the relegation zone, once again,” the Peacock surmised pleasantly escorting Boyle Sports’ exit strategy, “BS let me tell you, we will survive this predicament and a few weeks from now everyone will all be displaying zero balance.”

“Correct,” Boyle Sports concluded the visit.

Silence haunted the apartment flat, until the Peacock broke the quiet, “What are we going to do now?”

“Get some buzz,” Kia Ford answered.

“But the Wolves have the claret wine in relegation,” the Peacock spoke, projecting a worried falling off the wagon tone.

“Not that type of buzz, Peacock,” Kia Ford corrected, “next week we visit Brent Ford, and a little stinging honey saw kill, never hurt any publicist.”