Tour De Pants by Flatu-Lance Armstrong, released 20 September 2018 1. Surreal McCoy 2. 69th Inning Butthole Stretch 3. Butt Botanist 4. Cambridge Analfartica 5. This entry was posted in Sports. Bookmark the permalink. New, Improved Make-up Sex →.
Tour De Pants
Tour de France 2013 (Multi) By: Focus
MUCH like The Late, Late Show, Le Tour de France was once a perennial Channel 4 schedule-filler, eagerly consumed by lovers of undulating, lycra buttocks (the Tour, not The Late, Late Show). And thanks to its incessant coverage on the fledgling channel, the mid-80s marked a point when my generation put away such childish things as the BMX and straddled the majestic racing bike.
Built for speed, not for comfort, a Raleigh 10-speed, complete with groin-shredding seat and foot straps, was the sumptuous dream of many a shoeless urchin. This elegant vehicle for a more civilised age (it even came with its own pump) was almost never used for racing, but wrapping masking tape around those drop-handlebars was a rite of passage. Suddenly, the back alley to the Spar became France's verdant hills for any budding Stephen Roche or Sean Kelly, though playing cards clothes-pegged to the spokes for that authentic motorbike sound certainly tarnished the authentic sheen. But whereas this two-wheeled transport of delight has since been relegated to the attic or wrapped around a tree, the Tour continues unabated, and in 2013 celebrates 100 years of drug-fuelled pedalling. Three weeks of amphetamine-powered, dog-avoiding endurance that draws more headlines for riders eating asphalt and dodgy substances than actual winners, the Tour is also the subject of an annual videogame tie-in.
When a yellow-jerseyed Chris Froome freewheeled under the Champs Elysee last week, the one-time Kenyan avocado-peddler, now big-time British bike-pedaller, completed a grueling mix of tactics, stamina and strength over 3,403 kilometers. Alas, the official game is less than magnifique, reducing such superhuman prowess to hammering buttons and eating bananas, a feat worthy of the common chimp. Striking a dismal chord between arcade and simulation, Tour de France 2013 is a mix of tactical elements (such as timing when to eat said banana), dodgy handling and heeding advice from your team, who relay intel and warn of impending rival attacks. Ensconced in the Saxo Minkoff team, with Alberto Contador as team leader, a lack of licensing means you won't be tearing it up with real-world athletes, though hollow succour is provided through such pseudonymous luminaries as Braulio Waggons and Chris Vroome. Seriously. Though the entire team is in your control, players take to the saddle as one member, launching bluff attacks, changing gears and, yes, eating bananas.
Tour De France Poop Pants
Mercifully, given the 21 stages involved, the actual cycling is automated. Alternatively, players can complete a scaled-down version with seven key dates. The incredible thing is, even the game knows it's dull, and, on the advice of their manager, players can skip forward through vast swathes of identikit road. Based on one of the world's great sporting spectacles, the Tour's mix of speed, endurance and sticking to the correct racing line could have been a two-wheeled F1, albeit much, much slower. Instead, the most high-octane decision in this bicycle built for poo is whether to snaffle a kiwi fruit or banana (and Pac Man did that better 30 years ago).
Looks-wise, it's hardly a French fancy. Given the real thing features scenery lusher than Bradley Wiggins' muttonchops, the barren environments on offer here are sterile and bland, populated by wonkily animated racers and a repetitive soundtrack that consists mostly of your manager's inane ramblings. Dull and overcomplicated, with busy menus festooned with notes and numbers, userfriendly this is not. There are plenty of decent ideas on offer, such as co-op multiplayer, but it's all so cheaply constructed that even hardcore cycling fans will struggle to eek any enjoyment from it. What should have been the closest thing to taking part in the Tour de France without pumping yourself full of sweet, sweet steroids is instead bargain bucket tat. On yer bike.
Our most sincere gratitude to all of our family, friends and new Red Ants Pants supporters! It was quite a journey and we were most humbled by the genuine hospitality that all of hosts and guests showed towards us. The tour has certainly become a sisterhood and brotherhood of traveling pants. We're hoping that people not only find in Red Ants Pants a solid, quality American made workpant but a connection to the strengths of this small, honest company and also connections to newly forged friendships in their communities. Sometimes we think it's hard to believe that other folks get as worked up as we do over a pair of pants, but Red Ants Pants stands for more than an apparel item that allows women to get done what needs to be done, but a company that also stands for its customers, supporting them as they make strides in their workplace, in their homes and communities. And without all of your support, kindness and enthusiasm, none of this possible. We can only blush, feel a stir in our hearts and say, Thank You.
Again, great thanks to all of hosts and guests at the RAP parties. We look forward to coming back to the Midwest soon! We've truly enjoyed the view of the Great Lakes, much different than the great expanse of mountains and rolling plains of Montana.
Goodbyes are also in order as Sarah and Maggie part ways for the winter. Sarah nestles into her home in White Sulphur Springs, excitedly preparing for her Thanksgiving feast and one last week of hunting season. Maggie heads home to the northwest corner of Montana, hoping for lots of snow and a nice, long and powder filled ski season. She's also claiming her place behind the bar outside of Glacier National Park.
Once the holidays come to an end, Sarah will resume her planning efforts for the 2010 winter Tour de Pants schedule. Tour de Pants is making the rounds in the south and southeast. Check out the RAP website for more details!
And, one last story for all of you: we drove all Saturday from Minnesota to Montana. We kept pushing one more hour into the evening, just wanting to get a little bit closer to the state line. It was after 8pm and we were both hungry and tired and ready to find a rest area and pull in for the night. Montana lay just one more mile ahead. We pushed on, and just as we reached the state line a shooting star fell over the truck, illuminating the Welcome to Montana sign. There is no place like home.