Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

Knowing she needed to get buzz, Kia Ford waited patiently for Brent Ford to arrive. This strategically well-planned engagement’s agenda included discussing promotional ideas keeping the Hammer girl from relegation. Hoping this successful social top ten status would soon be a reality the positive marketing publicist noticed the Peacock tinkering with the bubble machine, the American entertaining business leader still felt secure and comfortable, confident a long bad luck string was required to send her down under, where table seating results may improve when iron power plays were stronger than others.

“That is something, Brent Ford, has to understand,” the star-spangled banner thought fending off climbing paramount mountain networking fears, “I would be top of the championship chain, but cliff hanging is very unlikely.”

“That is right, you have a respectable reservation and nice premiership view, competing around the penthouse level,” the Peacock agreed, monitoring, a few bubbles fly into the atmosphere, startled when the doorbell sounded.

“It must be the one who sweetens the nectar hive,” Kia Ford announced answering the professional gentlemen caller.

“Oh shoot,” she heard the Peacock state very frustrated.

“Brent,” Kia Ford exclaimed, revealing the worker bee.

“Kia,” Brent Ford removing shades, flipped his cap, “it is good to see you.”

“Come on in,” Kia Ford escorted, the United Kingdom mover and shaker through the hallway, where Brent Ford, saw the Peacock diligently pondering through bubble machine issues.

“Are you still having trouble getting goals? Peacock,” Brent Ford remarked.

“Well, I am sure it’s not the GP Batteries,” the Peacock updated the situation perfectly, “I actually think it’s a computer glitch which means I may have to travel the Amazon googling the whole trip.”

“That is too bad, Peacock, I would think googling down the Amazon would be considered a goal, on your half of the table.” Brent Ford bellowed.

“We are both on the same side of the table, Brent Ford,” Kia retaliated, “can I get you some tea?”

“Sure,” Brent Ford, mustache twisted, discarded any perspiration obtained outdoors, as the Peacock worried facial expression entered the private meeting culinary area.

Holding the kettle, Kia Ford confronted, “what happen Peacock?”

“I was surfing the Amazon and Kia Ford got hit with a post?”

“Hit with a post?” Brent Ford inquired.

“This Schade fellow, claims he got a goal since the ball was over the line,” the Peacock clarified.

“Was it?”

Taking a deep breath, the Peacock told them the further review findings, “apparently Schade ended up right, the goal was over the line,”

“Oh, that is too bad,” Brent Ford offered support towards the United States contingent, “you know this could cost you three points today.”

“It’s still early, Brent Ford,” Kia responded handing over the peaceful refreshment.

Despite having nearly, the full ninety-minute commitment recovery granted, Kia Ford could not find a goal and sacrificed the table mobility profit collection opportunity.

“That is too bad,” Brent Ford smirked, “you really should be getting goals today.”

Not getting what she purchased. Kia Ford walked Brent Ford towards the exit, “did you enjoy our event?” Brent Ford requested feedback.

“No, actually I did not,” Kia Ford honestly replied, “my check will be sent.”

Watching him reapply the sunglasses, Kia Ford noticed postal contents, “wow what is this?”

“It looks like you have been summoned,” the Peacock interpreted.

“By whom?”

“The Gunners, it says,” the Peacock confirmed, “they probably want to know if you are a champion or,”

“No, we are not getting relegated, I will go there, meet with the gunners and,”

“Learn how to get goals?” The Peacock hid behind the bubble machine.

“Let’s get the shrine working, Peacock,”

“Anything may happen,” the Peacock continued studying the mystified scoring predicament, wondering what else possibly could not be working.