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...