Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Still traumatized from the events that occurred inside the New Castle United, Porsche Man continued reflecting pondering the recent collapse, and the guilty party responsible for the theft. Three points and a successful outing enjoying magpies.

“How did I lose those points?” The star spangled who loved her banner thought monitoring the weather, throw watery pellets outdoors, “I could have gotten closer, to my realistic goal, take the Red Devils place and when all is completed be above the evil.”

Deciding to finally leave the safe bed confines, hearing thunderous clasps sing a duet accompanied by flashing lights, streaking across the sky, during its theatrical production. Porsche Man found culinary refuge, combating haunting sensation memories, reminding her about the tragedy resulting in a humble departure from the royal residence.

“Saint James really played me,” Porsche Man expressed explaining the foolish melt down action to the frozen meats locked inside the kitchen refrigerator.

“But what did you do that was wrong?” A voice behind her mysteriously exclaimed.

Turning around, Porsche Man saw an angelic figure appear, “Lilly White? Is that you?”

“In your dreams,” the fantasy character answered easing the American theatrical tease’s nerves, “what did you do wrong?”

“Let me see,” Porsche Man started a confession, “I made two fouls, and they retaliated scoring two goals, then,”

“Barnes,” Lilly White reminded.

“If I did not commit those two fouls, I would have three more points and the Red Devil would be sweating,”

“But you are in the lucky seven position,” Lilly White comforted the lost soul wanting a glamourous notch, showing everyone her cosmetic successes.

“You got a point there,” Porsche Man listened.

“Actually, it was a goal,” Lilly White grinned acknowledging the atmosphere crack and pound, “and it is mine.”

“This early?” Porsche Man inquired.

“This early,” Lilly White confirmed.

Finding a second wind, understanding her energy surges could supply goal-oriented activity, Porsche Man plopped onto the sofa and suddenly the bubble machine started without any switches being activated. “What was that?” Porsche Man immediately realized the festive scene wanting attention.

“Are you sedated?” Lilly White questioned, “feeling relaxed?”

“Yeah, so,” Porsche Man replied, seeing a cat prowl the couch.

“That is Kurt the peace kitten,” Lilly White introduced the four-legged calming influence, “and he is bringing something to you,”

“What?” Porsche Man inquired.

“A goal, of course,” Lilly White responded giggling.

“Why did you conjure up a goal for me?”

“I only summoned Kurt the peace kitten,” Lilly White paused, “you turned it into a goal.”

“I did,”

“Yes, and we are even,” Lilly White concluded, “where is Antonio on this horrendous night? I remember you enjoy scoring goals with him.”

“Deep down, inside my stomach, I truly believe Antonio is trying his best achieving a goal despite these elements.”

Fireworks doused, Lilly White and Porsche Man continued kicking things around, ending the evening’s conversation, silencing its dialogue. Standing up the friendly ghost took the hammer girl’s hand, hopefully leaving positively, “you got a goal and this time you did not crumble, and you were not dependent on Antonio.”

“Or going into my Julie Bowen character impersonation, your right, I am at home, and I held my own, Lilly White,” Porsche Man stood ground.

Using the stereo style natural soothing sounds, Porsche Man fell asleep. Early morning soon arrived, forecasting a sunny setting and Porsche Man’s top ten credibility never moved. Sitting down, Porsche Man strategized the weekend studying the blue print plan, knowing peak performance, mandatory.

“Confront the wolves, on their turf,” she committed to the scheduled obligation, staring into an empty courtyard gaining moral strength, “then maybe the red devil will worry, coming to grips, that my attitude will guide me past them.”