Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Escaping the Chef’s Field, rumored traditionally, as the place where many culinary community members hunt with blades, the wolves wandered the streets before invading Porsche Man’s courtyard. Standing there claiming goal superiority, achieving better table position, Porsche Man watched the military maneuvers through the window.

Closing the drapery, reassuring herself Chelsea’s weekly assignment mission, performing back up for the boys in the band at the weekend’s energy drink festival confirmed ‘successfully completed’, the theatrical tease felt her top ten status secure and no way she would wake up residing in a bottom half placement.

Reviews posted overnight reported no one displayed any goals until the encore. Apparently, the boys in the band laid out all their cards and achieved a goal taking the hardware pot.

Confidently Porsche Man checked her date book and the cell phone reminder alert noted Brent Ford would be visiting to discuss getting buzz. “But for that goals need to be made,” the West Ham United concluded hearing a door knock triggering the bubble machine enthusiasm.

“I’m coming,” Porsche Man shouted strutting down the hallway.

After opening the entry, a hard-working character appeared sweating like he walked twelve miles, “Brent Ford,” Porsche man greeted.

“I hear you are looking for nice buzz,” Brent Ford tipped his cap.

“I haven’t seen a goal in the longest time,” Porsche Man answered presenting a dehydrated tone, “why don’t you come in,”

Accepting the offer, Brent Ford followed the American theatrical tease into the kitchen, “would you like to have an energy drink? I still have a few since I was in the Carabao knockout round. Remember?”

“Had enough yesterday,” he answered.

“You were with Chelsea? Yesterday?” Porsche Man investigated, “is that why you are so blue?”

“She told me to keep it light today,” Brent Ford told her before his eyes captured the protest outside, “what are the wolves doing out there?”

“What can I say, they occupied my space on the table,” Porsche Man answered.

“How do you think you are going to get it back?”

“Watch,” Porsche Man stood up and proceeded towards the disturbances, receiving strength going into her first Julie Bowen impersonation. As the star-spangled banner theatrical salute dropped, the wolves took notice and immediately another version followed sending a message, ‘nothing to see here’. Once the contingent departed Porsche Man returned to Brent Ford, “those are my two goals,” she smiled.

“Well, I have a goal,” Brent Ford came right back.

“Which is?”

“Mau Pay,”

“More pay.” Porsche Man tried correcting.

“That is what I said Mau pay,” Brent Ford paused, “for you.”

During the break, Porsche Man surveyed the courtyard for damage, peering into the evening sky. “Wolves left and I got my position back on the table with the two acting goals, does that get me top ten respect?” She thought.

Going back to the meeting Porsche Man tried a third Julie Bowen routine, “wow that is perfect, Porsche Man,” Brent Ford complimented collecting his belongings.

“Yes, it was a hat,” she handed Brent Ford his chapeau, “trick.”

“Are we done here?” Brent Ford inquired when the bell went off signaling Porsche Man, ‘welcome a new guest’.

“Emerson,” she shrieked.

“I heard you were looking for a goal?” Emerson addressed.

“I could use another one,” Porsche Man smiled, “oh now we are done, Brent Ford.”

“I was on my way out I have a prior commitment with Chelsea,” Brent Ford achieved one more goal, knowing when to leave, finding the exit path.

“Now that our favorite buzz is gone,” Porsche Man interjected, “do you want some toffee?”

“We need all the goals we can get,” Emerson put his two cents in, “but what about the wolves?”

“They are probably stuffing themselves with magpies over at the New Castle and I doubt they will be any problem.”