Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Despite not having any goals the Wolves walked away from the Sunday affair, snickering that Porsche Man actually had three and added to that incredible news, ‘she was a knockout’. Quietly they left a golden ticket for the big concert with the boys in the band over at the Anfield.

When everything quieted down and Porsche Man guzzled a few more Carabao cans the surprise was found and she felt like an invited guest due to ‘being a knockout’.

When the time came, she packed a cooler with Carabao Energy Drink and hustled her way to the music festival. Upon arrival, the American theatrical tease immediately was enchanted by the landscape, filled with sponsored paid electricity, wanting a smashing success performances.

“Do you see Jones?” A voice behind her inquired.

“He is the one over there with two goals,” another answered.

“Wow, two goals,” Porsche Man pondered opening the cooler and grabbing a cold one.

Enjoying the priceless vibes, Porsche Man forgot all her troubles. Just like spending time in the Craven Cottages watching her host get all the goals, the action did not bother her, in fact she relished not being the center of attention.

“Let me figure this out,” Porsche Man heard a cell phone plea and turned around, “if the boys in the band have three goals, then went over to see Jones who had two, then there are five goals all together.”

“That is right,” Porsche Man confirmed to the individual holding a camera.

“Who are you?” The photographer asked closing the flip.

“I am Porsche Man, the West Ham United.” Porsche Man put her foot down watching him pick up the lens and pointed it while she answered with a Julie Bowen stare.

“Gotcha,” he said.

“I hope you got my best feature,” Porsche Man smiled, and the stranger affirmatively nodded his head.

As the evening finished its final set, Porsche Man collected herself and headed towards the exit satisfied with the one goal, ‘someone noticed her’ as a knockout.

A few days later the newspaper weekend section landed on the welcome mat. When she opened it to the social papers a picture with her name underneath was featured in the center. “Things were not that bad, the other night,” she told herself, “I did get one goal accomplished.”

Suddenly rustling sounded, inside the bushes, “what could that be?’ Porsche Man wondered.

Emerging from the mystery, a red devil, “what can I do for you?” She asked.

“Could you spare no more than two hours of your time?”

“Yes, I can Mr. Red Devil,” Porsche Man opened her door before turning on the bubble machine creating a fantasy distraction.

“Well, you seem to be very festive these days?” The Red Devil investigated.

“Check this out,” Porsche Man showed him the published image.

“Wow, you had your name in the paper,” the Red Devil observed.

“A nice goal for today,” Porsche Man noted, “gave him my Julie Bowen treatment.”

“It worked,” The Red Devil confirmed, “you know I have not had a goal in nearly five hours.”

“You must be famished,” Porshe Man exclaimed.

“It’s that bad, I have no clue what to do,”

“Go home, take a holiday break then,”

“Astin is coming to my villa,” the Red Devil announced.

“That’s great,” Porsche Man’s star-spangled banner personality surfaced, “enjoy your time with Astin.”

“I will but I hope he doesn’t act like a villain and rob me blind,” the Red Devil started standing up and Porsche Man escorted him to the door, “here take this and achieve another goal.”

“Another goal?” Porsche peered down to the business card.

“Goals R Us, I used to have a contract with them,” the Red Devil explained, “when things were going good.”

“Kudos,” Porsche Man replied realizing she found a second goal, “thank you.”

As the Red Devil ventured back into the wintry snow Porsche Man watched the bubbles fall softly to the ground, “I better get some goals I have to confront those gunners next.”