The only sprint that matters is on the Champs Elysses

Last week, we asked:

"Why am I pointing like this?" Now we have a more fulsome answer.

This is how many more stages I'll race before quitting the Tour, like a big weenie.

See, remember how much shit Cippo got for ducking out of the tour after his days in the sun? Cavendish, as good as he is, should receive the same amount of opprobrium for wussing out. Is Thor Hushovd not dragging his well-endowed ass over the Alps? Is Robbie McKewen clawing his way up Alp d'Huez? Is Erik Zabel busting his balls just to have the chance to race on Parisian pave? Is Ali-jet Pettachi sitting at home huffing on his Albuterol inhaler wishing he could be in this year's tour even through the last hellish week? Yes, yes, yes, yes, and probably. You don't see the time trial specialists packing up after the prologue, and the only way to get rid of a climber is to catch him using, uh, Nacho Flavored Doritos. Why do some sprinters not have the nuts to stick it out with the big boys?

I mean come on, Cav! You had one more stage until rest day, and if that didn't recharge your batteries, you could take the time cutoff like a man.