Porsche Man: The English Premier West Ham

Before the sun made an appearance, the weekend tabloid journalism teasers found their way onto Porsche Man’s porch. Due to not having anything on the morning or early afternoon agenda the tempting theatrical individual rested comfortably, enjoying the leisure time.

Coherently arriving, confronting the Sunday kitchen setting, the talented west ham heated water, grabbing anything that looked edible freezing inside the refrigerator. Leafing through the daily periodical flipping pages, reading headlines, and all the advertisements, realizing her photo, missing from the department store promotion, foreshadowing a disastrous period ahead. Letting the credible moment go Porsche Man continued glancing wondering if any information would be a nice conversation piece.

Then catching her attention an article stemming from last night, apparently Chelsea was singing the blues, established two goals and seemed to be cruising along, until the visiting gunners taunting a powerful arsenal dropped messages, leveling the performers.

“I have goals,” they exclaimed showing the peace sign while paying the cover and drink check.

“Wow,” Porsche Man mumbled, “they went in, let the opponent show their best then left even.”

Checking her watch, she noticed the hour getting late, “oh dear, I have to get to Aston’s Villa for a commitment.”

Searching the closet, pulling an innocent white ensemble off the racks Porsche Man quickly dolled up. Soon she invaded Aston’s Villa, pushing the doorbell, alerting the hosts and when the scene revealing guests wearing Porsche Man’s signature attire, the presentation boosted the professional Yankee entrepreneur’s confidence.

“This is going to be more than just kicking things around,” she thought.

A competitive atmosphere defined the entertaining get together as Porsche Man weaved her way, being cordial to each person. “I am very happy about my successes, you villans are very supportive, and I am glad they could afford the clothes, on a village gypsy’s salary.”

Making her way down the hall, one interesting character interrupted her journey, “Porsche Man,” he said, “it is very nice to see you today.”

“Well, thank you,” she replied.

“I would like to introduce myself, Douglas Ollie Bailey, I have three names and four goals,”

“Why so many goals?” Porsche Man curiously approached.

“A mistake made, and I Douglas, opened pandora’s gift box filled with rewarding riches.”

Pulling on her Julie Bowen superpower with the mere mortal, Porsche Man announced one evening goal, “Douglas Ollie Bailey, I look good in that uniform you are wearing.”

Despite being early, Porsche Man sensed this outing needed to be victorious especially when climbing the table ladder. Despite hammering away by social networking Porsche Man walked away from the event slightly bruised, wanting another opportunity.

“I am still in the top ten and I realized one goal achieved today,” she noted, “this country likes my clothing line.”

Unlocking the entry a ghostly voice bellowed, “beware of the gunners they have an arsenal.”

Eyes rolling Porsche Man went straight to the pantry, lighting the area up flicking a switch. Searching for a snack a disappointing realization occurred, “oh darn there are not any sweets. I must make a request.”

Encountering the computer screen, googling ‘sweet endings’ Porsche Man desired the ‘Star Spangled Trick Or Treat Bundle’ delivered. In an instant a ringing sound could be heard only a few feet down the corridor.

Hustling towards the door, Porsche Man startled herself when a horrific figure dressed in costume appeared, “your order, Miss America,” the figure announced.

“Are you a citizen?”

“Maybe,” the worker answered handing her a brown bag filled with candy, “enjoy your Halloween, Miss America but before that,”

“The gunners will be coming,” Porsche Man paused, “with their arsenal.”

“No” the European courier confirmed, “an adventure awaits, travel to Olympiakos, get goals there, discover your athletic physic and come back at the top of a table.”

“Will there be any toffees?” Porsche Man inquired.

“They will be here when you get back,” the stranger predicted.