Boil that Lance!! (or Armstrong returns)

Why won't he go away? Why? So he's going to return to racing. Yawn. Isn't he supposed to be retired?

I mean, yeah he beat cancer and yeah he's this great champion, but he's worse than Michael Phelps when it comes to super athlete super-stardom super annoying "look at me I think I'm a rock star but really I'm just this uber-talented jock" bullshit — and that's saying something.

So he's bored. Can't he take up knitting or world peace or Pamela Anderson or something. I mean, aren't there any more Olsons to sleep with? Researchers tell us that there is at least one more. Sigh.

Well, I guess if he can't keep it in his pants, perhaps he can gently hold it within his padded compressor shorts and pedal away off into the baguette-battered sunset (and yes, phallic reference intended, I am a failed English major you know).

At least we know the public will be safe from his yellow-jerseyed charm for the 23 days he'll be on his bike cycling around goat cheese-filled cafes and lush green Frenchie countrysides.

And amen to that, people.