Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

With Kia Ford out tending to her business trip, the Peacock relished loitering around the flat, spending time, tinkering with the GP batteries bought as a jolt charging experiment.

“Honestly, Brent Ford coming here soon, more buzz could kick the bubble machine, making the distracting tease dance with enthusiasm,” the Peacock noted stepping away from the festive production, turned on when west ham united representatives show their goals.

“Now as for you,” The Peacock attention shifted towards the shrine, “I already forgot your name.”

Only a few miles away, prowling the neighboring community’s other side, Kia Ford continued goal-oriented duties, feeling confident, walking away satisfied Aston Villa’s experience fulfilling, leveled. “I am very secure,” Kia Ford strategized, thirsty in finding new talent.

Weekend results completed, Kia Ford thought, Monday evening would be the best time to encounter true artistic entertainment performed. As prime-time hour arrived the star-spangled banner crossed over the Stamford Bridge, entering a Blues club advertising, “Chelsea Live Nightly”.

Back at the flat for three quarters of an hour, the Peacock kicked ideas from one goal to another, awaiting the shrine’s magic, “why aren’t you working?” Suddenly, while ‘feather brain thinking’, the faithful fowl found itself interrupted when the clock struck forty-two minutes.

“What do you mean you do not know my name?” The Shrine bellowed, “do not call me Ishmail, it is Bowen, I am the Bowen Shrine!”

“Yeah, okay,” the Peacock retorted, “but what we need from you right now, is a goal.”

“Well, I have that, here,” not only did the Peacock heard the radio broadcast the score, but the fantastic feat confirmed, a break needed.

After the first set, impressed Kia Ford applauded Chelsea, singing the blues. “I know I do not have any goals tonight,” Chelsea sarcastically grinned, “yet.”

Approaching, a patron who seemed to have had one too many shots on goal, Kia Ford commented, “she should have a lot of goals, she is good.”

Returning, Chelsea opened her second act confident goals were ready to be obtained, “I would like to start with my friend’s Neto’s beautiful poem, so if you do not mind let me give this a platform with me using the microphone.”

“You see,” Kia Ford chatted with the sleeping spectator, “a poem she put to music, that Neto companion really got her a goal.”

Following the ballad, the small contingent gave approval, and Chelsea adjusted her guitar then the sound system, “Aaron, Aaron,” she requested assistance, “can you get me my wan?”

When the employee retrieved the prop, Chelsea waved the stick proclaiming, “Bissaka.”

When the audience fell silent Chelsea announced, “look it that with one wan and reciting a Bissaka spell, another goal!”

“Two goals,” the gullible All-American exclaimed, “wow.”

Kia Ford finally arrived home, “such a wonderful excursion,” she declared, opening the door invading, dark space.

“Peacock, you here, Peacock,” Kia Ford summoned, spotting the colorful creature, peacefully relaxing by the shrine, accepting West Ham United’s information, “Chelsea had two goals tonight, playing nice selections.”

“Bowen got a goal! Bowen got a goal!”

“You mean the Bowen Shrine is fixed?” Kia Ford felt the electrical shock flow through her existence. “things must be running properly.”

“You have some time to rest Kia Ford, but may I remind you, Brent Ford will be visiting soon,” the Peacock flipped the light switch illuminating the hallway.

“Do you think he will get us some buzz?” Kia Ford asked.

“If Bowen keeps getting goals, sure,”

“But what about the bubble machine?”

“Honestly the GP batteries might do the trick, too,”

“Good,” Kia Ford stated, disappearing into the bedroom, hoping the Brent Ford meeting will collect three points.