Sorry, I’m on my cycle

Watching the Tour de France has left me with blisters on my bum. But the event and I are not strangers, and if you look you can always find stranger things. Like this:

You know I’m hot for this re-incarnation gag. It means if you fuk up or get fukked up you can have another round or two, up or down the ladder to nirvana or Black Sabbath. Or even The Beatles. One of my earlier rounds last century saw me fuk up as a politician and when I got deaded I came back as a Pthirus pubis – better known as a crab or pubic louse. I was in pretty good company… the whole mess of us were formerly politicians, lawyers and company directors.

Anyway, I’d been a crab louse for half a lifetime – about three days – and I got bored bloodless listening to those other lice go on and on about their former business deals and how they struck a resounding blow for the rich and connected etc etc so I organised a real test of prowess and come up with the idea of a bicycle race around our host human.

It had a working title  – The Tour De Pants – and was such a success that when I was later reborn as a French onion bicycle-courier I remembered the event from my past-life and went on to re-create the event in real life but it sadly died on the drawing board. The Onion Cyclist Race Around de Frog Pond never took off.

However, back to the previous lifetime: The Tour de Pants for body lice. I mapped out the event course over our host and it kicked off under Dax on the Loins of L’amour, sweeping down over the Hummocks of Cellulite, negotiating the Dimples of Doom, then veered down the Butte Crakke into De’ath Valley, steering around De Fumel while skirting the treacherous Mud Flaps along the Basin d-Arces. From there the course swung south under the vast gauche Jodhpur Breaches that cover the Omy Lourdres Louket De’m Thives  down to the Pair-o-Knees mountains before turning back up the Plateau de Porcine  d’à droite Jodhpur…. round the back of the Domes de Puey then through the Toblerone Tunnel where we had to cross the T’ain’t Bridge.

The course then forced the riders to go single file past the Tou-Loose Les Rideaux  de Chateaubriand, avoiding Arudy before tackling the Mons de Venus which overlooks la Quimper. From there we bashed through the Black and Silver Forest prior to making a dash across the dreaded Stretchmark Veldt to the site of Uttah Rouen, skirting the rutted Scar d’Appendix.

Toughest part was in the Brest region where we had to climb the colossal Massif Alps – this used to be the Lussac Region until a liquid silica deposit was discovered underneath  —  then a speedy free-wheel coast down through the Sillycones Valley across the Muffin-Top Ridge and winding up at the Navel Base.

I won — of course, mainly because all the others lost — but when I jumped in the navel base for a victory swim I discovered the fukken thing was polluted with a pyrethrin-based product and it killed me. But I still had my reincarnation passport and so I came back as a… no, I might save that one for another time.

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