Two Irishmen were sitting in a pub watching the Tour de France on TV. Seamus shakes his head and asks, "Whoi the hell do they do dat?"
"Do what?" asks Mick.
"Go on them boikes for moiles and moiles, up and down hills, round t'e bends, day after day, week after week ? No matter if it's oicy, rainin’, snowin’, hailin’ . .. . why do dey torture themselves like that?" "Tis all for the prestige and de money," replies Mick, "you know de winner gets a half a million Euros”. "Yeah, I understand dat." says Seamus, "But why do all the others do it?"
