Two Irishmen were sitting in a pub watching the Tour de France on TV.
Seamus shook his head and asked, “Whoi t’e hell do they do that?”
“Do what?” asked Mick.
“Go on them boikes for moiles and moiles, up and down t’e hills, round t’e bends. Day after day, week
after week. No matter if it’s oicy, rainin’, snowin’, hailin’ . .. . why would they torture themselves like
“Tis all for the prestige and the money,” replied Mick, “You know the winner gets about a half a million
“Yeah, I understand that.” said Seamus,
“But why do all the others do it?”