This Furious, Bouncing Shirtless Man Is The New Warrior King Of Royal Ascot

Bow before your bare-chested leader

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Before we move forward with this, please watch the below video of a shirtless, bouncy man completely losing his shit at Royal Ascot today:

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Now: imagine, just imagine being so angry, so incandescent that you felt the need to take your shirt off. "I'm so furious and so hot with rage that this polyester cannot contain me!" you cry to the gods; bare skin becoming battle armour as you scream your rosé war cry at enemies in pink ties and square-toed shoes.

Beneath a dim Berkshire sky you shatter fences, tear down champagne tents and send women in hats and men with names like Ricky and Dane reeling. You are the Ascot Atilla the Hun and destruction, black and absolute, is your only aim.

We do not know this man's name. We know nothing about this great doughy warlord and that makes this story all the better. A whirling, hateful, sausage-and-beans-devouring, cat-calling vortex descending on Ladies Day at Royal Ascot to seek justice.... a showdown.

"Let's finish it off, me and you." he bellows to no one in particular. There is no real foe that we can see. "Just leave it!" the crowd screams, but if you think our big pink warrior prince, our beef-and-roast-potatoes king brawler would "just leave it," then you're a fool. Did Attilla "just leave it" at the Battle of the Utus? A warrior cannot "just leave it." Blood Bollinger must be spilled and nations conquered.

They try and pin him down, contain him. Witless mortals. How can you stop a shirtless man with nothing to lose? Like children trying to catch a Brexit-voting sea lion, he slips free and back into the fray.

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The crowds grow more hysterical, ladies claw as they topple from deck chairs, scrabbling in the dirt while the Danes and Rickies prepare for a second wave of sweat-soaked and bilious attack and then...

The video ends, and with it the true outcome of The Battle for Ladies Day. We can only imagine that Ascot now lies in ruins, the Big Pink Brawler conquering all, before claiming the racecourse for his own and instilling strict laws prohibiting vegetables, 'elf and safety and reasonable conflict resolution.

We can think of only one man brave enough to confront him. One man able to contain the hairy-backed carnage of Ascot Attila.

His name is Ronnie Pickering.

Save us, Ronnie.