|anthem||Up The Hoods, For they are the People|
|population||2,800 to 5,000|
|ethnic groups||Gimps & Catholics|
Belfast (pronounced Bel-fawst or spank-diddly anxious) is a small commune on the Northeast coast of Ireland. It is the capital city of the Northern Irish empire and is believed to be the largest city ever visited by Bill Clinton. Its world famous smell emanates from the grand River Lagan where locals gather to do massive shits every Sunday night. Which is named after the infamous Laganside Gangs. The city straddles the Co. Terapatrick and Co. Teaganpresley borders on a regular basis, but sometimes it just prefers the missionary position. The City's major flavour is that of pork scratchings (despite that these are nowhere to be found in the city), and any visitors planning on visiting the mighty city should bend over and give the pavement a lick - "A Must" said the Independent.
Belfast is famous in the world of chance having been the winning place for a lottery ticket. The Lottery prizes were: 1st Prize: 1 Weeks Holiday for 1 in Belfast 2nd Prize: 2 Weeks Holiday for 2 in Belfast and so on ad infinitum
The name Belfast orginates from the Irish Quitçherfeaichinárséodoúrs or Just count yourself lucky it's not France and is a reference to the fact that the French under the command of Herr General Von Thierry Henry once tried to steal the city and ship it to Japan-France.
Bastards. Cheeky Monkeys.
The shite (Sean Conneryism for site) of Belfast has been occupied since the Bone Age. The Giant's Ring, a 3000 pound sphincter is located close to the city and was used for pagan ceremonies. The remains of some Jeremy Irons Age hill fartifications can still be seen today and are the subject of much interest for nobody in particular. It was only in the 15th century however that anyone actually realised the city was there. After this discovery the population grew exponentially at a rate of 2 people per decade when people realised anything was better than Dublin.
Belfast has been the capital of the Northern Irish empire since its creation in 1922(2)(6?)45 and sixty-nine with the conquest of the Isle of Man (pronounced I-Love-Man) after the long and bloody turd-wars between the two nations. Although the global supremacy of the Northern Irish empire has long been established, there are still deep divides within the Belfastian community. To this day members of the two dominant religions, Prostitutes and Cat-o-licks (see kitten huffing) have difficulty seeing eye-to-eye...preferring arse-to-eye, tie-to-eye or aye aye. This long-division has resulted in a long drawn out conflict between the two communities...and who can blame them? Nobody likes fucking maths. This conflict has come to be known as the Troubles.
Belfast is run by gun-toting weightlifters.
Belfast saw the worst of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, but it also saw some parts of the Troubles when it was on holiday in Dundee. It swore never to go back. The conflict mentioned above claimed the lives of manys a Prostitute and Cat-o-lick. For a while it seemed like there could be no peaceful resolution as the political representatives for each side were too busy growing silly beards (see Gerry Adams) or Saying NO and preventing people from sodomising other people (See Ian Paisley). A breakthrough occurred however two days from yesterday with the signing of the Good Fry Day Agreement. All the political leaders were rounded up and cooked a cracking version of the Northern Irish national dish, the
Ulster Occupied Six Counties Fry (not to be confused with a famous composition by the renowned composer Frey). Following this slap up meal they all agreed they'd been stupid shits and agreed that it was indeed a good day for a fry. Things are now looking up for the two communities of Belfast, mainly because the things were tired of being told to look left and right before crossing the road.
As with the rest of Northern Ireland, Belfast has a tropical climate. This of course has been a cause of considerable annoyance for the inhabitants of the southern part of the island (The Republic of Bananaland), who endure a yearly average of 364 days of torrential rain, relieved only by one day of light drizzle. In 245 BC, the climatic differences resulted in an attempted land-grab by the soggy southerners and that same conflict continues until this day.
Temperatures in Northern Ireland can reach such extremes during the month of July, specially trained groups of Climate Controllers ignite hundreds of large bonfires in order to block out the sun's rays with clouds of thick black toxic smoke. Despite the health risks and environmental damage caused by so many burning car tyres, the drop in temperature comes as such a relief to the local population, that they celebrate with colourful band parades and the consumption of copius amounts of cheap alcohol at the aforementioned bonfires. This is a traditional cross community cultural event, in which Protestants and Catholics participate in an equal and inclusive manner, usually with playful banter, songs and energetic games such as the always popular "Pass the Petrol Bomb" or "Bang! Bang! You're dead."
Belfastians (also known as Belfastards)
If you are planning upon visiting Belfast in the near future, this section is VITALLY IMPORTANT for you to read. Understandably, after centuries of internal conflict, Belfastians are wary of anyone who isn't their mum, Paddy, Billy or a pint of Guinness. So, here are some do's and don'ts for dealing with the locals:
- Compliment the locals on their ability to drink more than those stinking' Dubs.
- Listen carefully, nod and smile to everything a local is talking to you about, even if you can't understand a word they are saying. This is perfectly normal.
- Feel free to complain endlessly about the weather, or Travis, preferably both.
- Ask everyone you meet their religion, this is a good icebreaker. "So are you a Catholic or a Prod?"
- Alternatively ask: Arre ye a leftfoot jew orre a Prottestant Jew?
- Very little else.
- repeatably say up the ra / 'dose unrepentant Fenian bastards
- Make any sudden movements, such as reach for your wallet.
- Talk about touchy subjects, such as the Troubles, Colin Murray coming from Belfast or the blatantly obvious lack of postcodes.
- Talk about walking tours of the Ormeau Road and nearby Portadown.
- Ask about anywhere in Northern Ireland outside of Belfast. This would result in challenging their view that there is nothing outside of Belfast and cause their heads to explode.
- Be surprised if someone starts complaining aggressively at you about something that is in no way your fault or responsibility. Belfast's don't like complaining to an appropriate person as this could result in the problem being fixed, leaving them with nothing to complain about.
- Lock your car door. This is considered an insult to the national sport of joyriding by making it any more difficult to choose cars at will for: "a wee rake about leek".
You don't care about postcodes and neither do Belfastians, things work out fine that way, right? RIGHT?!? Good mawn. Postcodes operate in a similar system to the greater United Kingdom, although they are segregated along sectarian lines. Postal codes that begin with certain letters belong to certain communities, for exampe, 'PAD DY1' is a typical Falls Road postcode and 'PRO DD1' is a typical Shankill Road postcode.
All mail entering Belfast must be separated along sectarian lines. Mail addressed to someone with an Irish name can only be carried by a Catholic (or 'drunk') postman, similarly mail addressed to someone with a British name can only be carried by a prod/bitter man.
Famous people from Belfast
- Eamonn Holmes (fer christ's sake]
- St. George Best (first emperor of Northern Ireland)
- St. Patrick of the Divine Insertion (a promiscuous Prostitute and founder of the Cat-o-lick religion in Aerland) He was also fond of beating the snake.
- Helen's Bay
- Derry (known by some locals as 'It's fuckin Londonderry ya Fenian bastard!') - (known by other locals as "you must mean London, England , yeh thick cunt!")
- Translink (Northern Ireland)
- HowTo:Be A Student in Belfast
- they also despise the thought of meaningful road signs. Any actual road sign you spot should therefore be treated as if Wile E. Coyote had placed it there. If you don't know where you are, fuck you!