Porsche Man The English Premier West Ham

Being in the top ten was nothing to snuffle about, in fact Porsche Man’s homeland featured a late-night chatterbox known for his letters, when every workday night the cover magazine suit wearing comedian, made a funny list. “Oh, how I wish I was in Dave’s top ten but,” she paused, “I am here in this one.”

Finished putting on makeup, gritting her teeth, presenting the best face for the encounter with the Imp Porsche Man told the mirror the truth.

“This isn’t a date, it’s a meeting that will properly not happen again during the near future,” the American theatrical tease locked the door, heading to the match made by a water buffalo filled with energy. One thing that worried the stars and stripes talent, cameras were not attending the sit-down diplomatic dialogue.

Upon arrival the spangled banner image stared down the Great Satan rip-off outfit, occupying his fake royal chair, “Welcome Porsche Man,” he said holding the officially licensed energy drink chalice.

“Mr. Imp,” Porsche Man replied taking a seat, respectively,

“I see you are starting to become a great chief,” the imp paused, “maybe a jetsetter, perhaps.”

Knowing his devious deceptive qualities Porsche Man stood her ground, “is there something you want?

Fluttering his lips, the imp twirled his tail, “well,” he said, “if you ask, a fair chance to drink from the Carabao Cup would be a nice offer.”

“Isn’t the Carabao Cup reserved for champions,” Porsche Man pointed out,

“Well,”

“Well, Mr. Imp. Do you have a goal?”

“Well,”

“Well,” Porsche Man repeated, “I not only have a goal, but I am in the top ten.”

“Well,”

“Well,” Porsche Man continued, “it is done, you have zero goals, and you are no longer worrying about the Carabao Cup!”

“Well,” the Imp responded, “beware of the gunners with the Arsenal, my dear Porsche Man or you will not be worrying about the Carabao Cup, either”

“Good day, Mr. Imp.”

Leaving the situation Porsche Man returned back to the flat, “how dare that evil despicable imp think he was worthy to sip from the Carabao Cup.”

Opening the door, Porsche Man heard a voice, “beware of the gunners they have arsenal,”

Wondering where the lurking warning came from Porsche Man stopped, took a breath before going to sleep.

When Saturday arrived, she thought up a plan while sharpening her skills, using blades inside the kitchen, reflecting upon her successes, “I am in the top ten and I want to stay there,” Porsche Man started.

Feeling the Julie Bowen character haunt, she cut luncheon meat into thin slices, “I have a goal and I want another one!” That is when a check appeared, opening it she smiled awkwardly, realizing the contents strengthened her stubborn attitude, “that is right I have two goals today.”

Putting together a plan, the Saturday television news reminded her there was a new castle united, “that is it!” Porsche Man shouted, “I will invite them over and we will enjoy Mag Pies and the one that devours the most will be well nourished.”

Wondering if there were anymore daily mail notices she shifted through the pile and discovered an invitation, “wow the German-Brazilian restaurant wants me to stop in for a photo op.”

Picking up the telephone and dialing the toll-free number Porsche Man went looking for more information, “Yeah, ah uh, Thursday night, to see who will be in first,”

“First, what?” Porsche Man heard the other line hang up, “a gig is a gig.”

Turning around with new hope she concluded, “that getting her name out in the area, having a nice mid-week dinner could move her up in good standings seemed like the immediate agenda item. Then scribbling on her calendar, ‘following the business placement publicity, the mag pie feast headlining those claiming new castle united will be dessert.’ In her mind Porsche Man confirmed the information, feeling her scheduled week results should be victorious.