|Nasal pass... do I smell bant?|
|Through the banthole|
- He withdrew large amounts of lash from the lashpoint, using a stolen card from one of UPHC's star forwards.
- He then proceeded to go around the many hotspots of the town (Number 9, da Monkee, da York) with a banter level dangerously off the scale.
- He moved on to QSAT, the bouncers moved out of his way as he waltzed in. Fear gripping even the most hardened cunts that are supposed to be guarding the entrance to this sacred club.
- He bought 7 bottles of cheap lager, one for each of the 18 year old girls that he had slept with the night before.
- Moving onto the dance floor, he went HAM, throwing the duttiest shapes known to man. Forget Dancing on Ice, this was Dancing on Bravado.
- Many females came up to him, his common response was '6/10, better luck next time'. Until he found the youngest girl there, with the thickest layer of makeup and lowest cut top.
- He stopped sharking for the night to get chips and drinks from the dutty kebab shop with his new QCLUB bride.
- Nothing is known about their night together, except he was seen in the morning with a lashmina over his face, doing the walk of dutty shame.
Do not be fooled. This man may appear at first instance to be a generic lad, with his Supershit T-shirt and Jack Cunt 'sweat pants', but his bant has been known to reduce grown rugby players to tears.
Approach with caution. Get your anti-banter spray (a copy of the The Economist rolled up) out and be ready to use it. DO NOT HOLD BACK!