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|aka Down there where they breed national heroes|
|motto||Wouldn't Dowtcha Boy!|
|anthem||The Langer Song|
|country||The People's Republic of Cork|
|population||Era, about 5 Million like!|
|ethnic groups||Corkonians,Knackers, Foxy, People with an unusual and unfounded opinion of themselves and where they come from.|
|languages / dialects||Hiberno-English, Crack Ebonics|
|religions||The Frank and Walters, The Sultans of Ping F.C., Five Go Down to the Sea|
- Don't live to pay. Load up your guns and take every bat you have to every rich kid in town who never worked a day in their lives and still get to go to university.
- Were you looking for Dublin? If so go fuck yourself.
“Cork.. An absolute waste of space and perfectly fine rocks. Similar to Dublin.”
“If we did counties they'd be like Cork”
Many others soon followed her lead once word got around that she was building a free society established in a small but perfectly formed spot called "Sir Henry's" in which it was legal (read obligatory) to marry farmyard animals. She was joined by many other likeminded loonies and soon the town began to thrive and prosper, in love and the spirit that is dancing for no money.
The love died in 1994 but was brought back to life again two years later by Keano, king of the world. It went on to live for ten more glorious minutes before it finally snuffed it again. It is buried under a pile of rags at the bottom of the garden.
Strangely enough, the Gardaí (Irish for People-posing-as-the-Police) or Shades if you're from Cork still got several hundred calls from people that claimed to have seen it crawl around on a stage in Dublin in December 2005. The shades usually hang around the gaff's around Barrack St, much to be avoided.
Cork not to be confused with Bangladesh, is part of the united nations of british hatred(UNBH) since the 15th of december 1916 14hr:32min:34 sec. A brief period of time passed in the late sixties where cork decided to dismiss itself from the UNBH on the grounds that the union was not hating england enough. This was soon rectified in the late 1980's when irish comedian Dara o Brien ( also from Cork ) was given a mission from the UNBH to behead Margaret thatcher, an enemy of ireland and the cause of the irish famine and economic crisis. The job however was botched and forced the UNBH to deny all involvement. Mrs thatcher died some years later in a supermarket in chester where she was crushed by a falling bag of potatoes. Cork rejoined the UNBH that same year to the suspicion of the british government.
Today Cork is populated with a strange, quirky people (known as Pikeys) who mostly wear red. tarmac driveways and finish each sentence with the word 'boy'. An example being : 'Here, boy'? Dat sunshine is feckin blindin boy'. Or 'What langer wrote this shite, boy?'. Sun has since been banned in all parts of Cork due to an outbreak of smacked arse syndrome. Corkonians (Wankers for short), especially North-siders, have a fierce distrust of everyone and everything around them. Especially people with an education. They are easily spotted as all (including women) have taken to growing handlebar moustaches and drinking cans of Dutch Gold (recently Corkonians have discovered a world of alcohol outside of dutch mould and expanded their range into drinks such as druids cider and royal dutch, however when in a public house (in Ireland) corkonians are usually spotted drinking Murphy's stout simply because it all started in cork biy!. When in a pub outside of Ireland they can be seen asking the question WHAT no murphy's?, ah ill hafta settle for guinness so i suppose) . But beware they are extermly dangorous and travel in packs. 'We is de proper capital of dis here Ireland, boy', they shout when passing through Dublin on their way to collect their benefits, usually with some kind of all-ireland cup under-arm (wether they actually won it or stole it).
Cork also has one of the highest suicide and rates in the world. Over 90% of the population tries suicide within their first year of marriage (mostly due to arguments with their sibling/spouse after the honeymoon period).
Although Cork and Dublins relations have been frosty for decades since the "Clondalkin Massacre" where a miss-guided Stag party from Cork attempted to sing "Boys of fairhill" and "Luchenbach,Texas" by Waylon Jennings in a local Clondalkin pub only hours after Cork's demolition of Dublin in Croke Park.Needless to say the publicans reaction wasn't welcoming and their remains have yet to have been found.Despite these differences Corkonians and Dubs have much in common.
- They both hate each other
- They both consider everybody else as "culchies"
- People from the south of the City hate people from the north
- People from the north of the city hate people from the south
- Both have incomprehendable accents to outsiders,it is thought they can understand each other
- Even when their sports team is below average,they still expect nothing less than a victory.
- They are the only two citys with major socio-economic troubles. Therefore basketball is a popular sport in both citys.
- Cork People refer to Cork as "The real capital" (due to poor geography teaching) this annoys Dubs!
It is also worth noting that dubliners are also known in cork by the popular term jackeens....as heard in the song you are a jackeen, a scummy jackeen, you're only happy on dole day, your mams been stealing, your dads drug dealing, so please dont take my hubcaps away -sung to the tune of u are my sunshine. This song is best when heard live at any Cork City FC Vs (insert dublin team here) match. A recommended activity when in the cork city region.
What people don't know is when you go out in cork you can get langers and still pull the best looking norrie and going back to her gaff in hollyhill or the glen to bang her,this is common tradition among young cork folk from the northside of town.
This practise must be undertaken with serious caution however as you could end up in the wrong old doll and get yourself a serious batin for your troubles off her fella, who is usually sporting a cap angled at 90 degrees from his head, a coal-quay brand fred perry top and ofcourse a knacker-tash, which is a patially grown moustache that just looks like the wearer forgot to shave for a couple of days, he may also have a pair of nike air max runners which may too have been purchased in the coal quay.
Something to look out for on a trip to cork is a local type of group called "Da Boys".They usually travel in pairs once they a tannked up on a few pints and shots.They wear blue jeans,white t-shirt,glasses and have names such as freddy big balls.Once drunk they are to be avoided at all cost to your health.
A trip to Mangan's is a must for all those lovers of clubbing.Finish off the night with 3 double cheeseburgers in the 'blue mcDonalds'(which is shit by the way, no-one goes there cept when the good one's closed).
Fred Zeppelin's is a shitpile and it's going under soon... wait, there it is.
Eating Out (also known as getting a munch)
Cork also prides itself on its vast range of fine restaurants and tradition of good food. Although where you eat sometimes defines what part of the city you are from. Southsiders bring their families to Dougls restaurant KCs, famous for its fine selection of thin potatoes. Whereas Northsiders will most probably bring their families to the local Soup Kitchen provided by the areas council! It is also a well known tradition to fling any unwanted meal into the air while shouting "Up For The Baa"; any scavengers within the immediate area will have a quick game of "kickshit" trying to reach flying Cuisine!
The long-running battle for supreme dominance of Cork's post-drinking 'it's 3am and if I don't get a burger I'm gonna die' market has been fought between Chilli's Tandoori and Hillbillie's. This war is often referred to as 'Chilli's Vs. 'Billie's'. Commentators have often praised Hillbillie's for its central location, solid chicken burgers (known locally as a breast in a bun) and its strange propensity to be one's last chance to score, fight or both. On the other hand Chillie's boasts splendidly soggy chips and deliciously filthy deep fried burgers. Chilli's Tandoori also has the trump card of being run by the Admiral of the Pakistani Navy, as confirmed by his hat. Of late the Instanbul burger & kebab emporium has also emerged as a heavyweight contender for the title of dirty take away king of Cork. The Istanbul's quarter pounders can be upgraded to a half pounder for a mere 30c extra and they taste extra good when dropped on the floor and still served to you because you're a drunk piece of crap that the staff hate, and wish a merry Christmas as they kick your sorry ass out their brightly painted door. Go piss out those rotten pints you got in the Bróg in an alleyway, you lousy bum.
In early 20,010, Chillie's unfortunately lost its titanic struggle with Hillbilly's after succombing to a short illness and a subsequent ANAL invasion by the shipmates of the Istanbul, who have since set up in its quarters. Mourning the loss of an honourable rival, Hillbilly's representatives issued a press release in which "manky brown chips" were discussed at length, before taking the local Abrakebabra to task for sourcing its "secret sauce" to male staff members freshly "milking" each other.
Vegetarians in the area generally are left with two choices, once things such as oil the meat's been fried in and personal hygiene are considered: Cafe Paradiso, a posh, fuck-off overrated den of posers and fiscally overburdened, and the Quay Co-op, a faux-socialist, badly-run den of posers, non-vegetarians and incompetent management. The food in these places, however, is still decades ahead of its cruelty-loving competition: the veggie lasagna is a class B narcotic.
Cork City in and of itself contains a crack squad of the finest street drunkards known to all humanity. Basing themselves around Patrick's Hill, and claiming residence in that area's retail outlets, this team of professional wasters roams the town challenging little children to fights and casting all non-Irish Catholics to hell. Such is their power that upon issuing said threat to said non-patriotic, non-God-fearing, non-IRA-supportive heathens, that the ground cracks open and hell itself extends a fiery arm to bring them down. All of the team members are allied in an important goal: to fucking irritate everyone in their path. Another commonality in the team is their alleged relation to Michael Collins. This has yet to be proven, but a common DNA pattern would explain their state. Cork's street drinking team cannot be fucked with, despite several attempts by police, army and King Diamond, who finally combusted after a long screaming match with Mary took its toll on his wearying frame.
Mikey and Mary
Current Cork City tag team champions of drinkage. Known to arse around near Crowley's. The female of the species is certifiably Bat Fuck Insane, thinking nothing of urinating in public in the afternoon. Relationship with male of species varies from day-to-day, from family (cousins) to lovers. The male of the species also shows primitive musicality, randomly banging spoons with the accompaniment of a 20-euro boombox. Further study is needed to determine as to any correllation between his spoons and the radio, but it's largely imagined that there is none.
Areas of note
Cork City center and it's surrounding area is a limitless, fun filled crusade of culture, high end fashion, and concequence free glue sniffing. Here are some areas of interest that may appeal...
Farranree is the shitest part of Cork. This is common knowledge to everyone except people who are from Farranree. It is not uncommon to take a stroll around Farranree on a brisk Sunday morning and see devout churchgoers from Farranrees pension addled, upper class terraces mingle with the youth underbelly returning home from a busy Saturday night of fights, gracious sex and obscene DJ Tiesto fetishism.
Knocknaheeney , also known as Knocka Bai, is essentialy a better Farranree. A veritable warehouse full of chemical wonders to be shipped to the afformentioned youth underbelly of Farranree. It is common knowledge to everybody except those living in Farranree that Farranree is NOT IN ANYWAY better than Knocknaheeney. The two border each other somewhere by that park with all the shit about your old lade written on it. You know the one.
Near the above two romanticised villiages of excellence, Churchfield is a bit like an dormant STD. It just sort of sits their between everything else and ... yeah. It's Churchfield, like. Not hard enough to be from Farranree, not desperate enough to flee into the surrounding KNocknaheeney, Churchfield is like a piggie in the middle. A fat, annonymous one.
In a word, fuck you and fuck your fucking Churchfield. This is common knowledge to everyone but those not living in Farranree & Knocknaheeney.
Glanmire is a bowl,surrounded by hills once you are in the bowl you can not leave. Glanmire is proudly home to plenty of people but everybody knows everybody and if you're lucky enough to crack onto some bird the chances are high that everyone within a 5-mile radius is related to her or has shagged her, or both. Glanmire, once known as "Punto Town" thanks to the proliferation of Fiat Punto's in the area circa the turn of the millenium, is now almost equally well known for white jap imports. The local dialect is distinct from the rest of the northside and varies according to age group, whereby the under-25's generally speak in a fake knacker accent and the over-25 age group speaks in a faux riche, distinctly hoity middle-class accent. Areas of interest and worth visiting include: on the roundabout at supervalu, outside luciano's chipper and near the community college, but it is essential to wear tracksuits and travel in groups of over 10 people.
Blackpool is an overflowing metropolis of black and caucasians who had your old lade. The shopping center it plays host to is the hive of most teen girls from the surrounding area, who are attracted by the various glamour shops and the smell of cakes from the adjacent bakery. The shopping complex and it's locale also house the cinema, some generic silver office blocks which are ideal for tagging, and some fine, fine gatting fields.
The commerce area then leads to long, winding, dust covered roads full of houses where your old lade was had by the same guy you buy your hash off. You know it. Then there is the church. Blackpool church. Much like Willie Wonka's chocolate factory nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever goes out. Instead they stay outside and drink.
Praise the lordah!
Despite Cork, in the grand scale of things, being nothing more than a town - as a whole - [except Farranree], 'Town' is generally reffered to as the area between Patrick's bridge and Christy Ring bridge. The body of 'Town' is of course St. Patricks street which plays host to the Savoy, where all the sham bais hang out, Paul Street, where all the weird goths in black t-shirts with white make-up hang out, you can also indentify them if there cutting there wrists with a blunt pin-knife found under a bridge, and the peace park, where the actual real alternative folk hang out. I say real because they care not for your petty shelters and personal hygiene conventions! Random? Scene? My Chemical Romance? Near Vana? With that feen who shot himself? They are all RUBBISH!
This is common knowledge just to those who sit in the peace park and smoke hash bought from the guy who banged your old lade. Allllll day.
it has been proven that only 5% of the population know that there are other streets in Town except for Patrick street.
Gattin & Foggin
Not to be confused with the comedy crime duo of the same name, Gattin & Foggin are the two national pastimes of the youth branch of the Peoples Republic Of Cork, as opposed to Hurling and GAA football. GAA football is a common, dirty, manky sport anyway, you fucking bogger.
The typical anatomy of a 'gattin' [notice you never add the final 'G' because it stands for GAAAAAAY] session, or basically a gigantic fucking six hour shove-it-under-your-top-find-a-bush-and-empty-all-down-yer-neck-before-your-old-lade-phones-the-shades drinking session is as follows.
- Da Bais finish they'r wanks at 3PM, leaving them bored.
- Texts are sent, and Da Bais meet up outside a store where alcohol may be purchased at 6PM.
- Da Bais pick Da Bai with the correct look about him, and he gets 'blown out' for not being of age to purchase alcohol.
- Da Bais instead place a phonecall to someone who has an ID sufficient to purcahse the alcohol at 6:30PM.
- Da Older Bai arrives at approximately 9:27PM in a banged up Opel Corsa and purchases Da Bais their fine quality beverages.
- Armed with eight crates of Dutch Gold, Cork's premier cheap lager, mini bottles of cheap, shitty Huzzar Vodka and a terrible choice for mixer [usually Powerade] Da Bais seek a soft bed of grass on which to gat on.
- Da Bais then typicaly get chased out of this lovely patch of land and down all their alcohol en route to plan B.
- Da Bais arrive at Plan B at 12:48AM. Plan B is a wet bus shelter. The night has finnaly begun.
- Fifteen minuets later, the girl most intolerant to alcohol will wank someone off and later throw up.
Foggin refers to the act of smoking some of Cork's fine glass sprayed weed or camel shit covered hashish. I can get ya proper sticky black stuff tho from down west. Give us a ring their bai. Anyway.
- Da Bais get they're fifty bag of weed at 3PM. Fifty euros for three grams or so of the world's worst smoke.
- Da Bais start they're smoking.
- Much food is consumed, somebody tries to convince the bais that the shades are outside, and the night closes out to someones Bob Marley copied CD.
- Baile Átha Cliath
- Corcaigh language, a dialect of Mandarin
- Waterford, a former colony of United Kingdom of Cork and Northern Brittany
- Jehusephat Merryweather's Guide To Low-Cost Bestiality And It's Hotspots
- Clare GAA
- Cork GAA
Addendom: Corkesians say the word 'Boy' as previously mentioned, but they also use the word 'Like'. Should be mentioned that Red is their favourite colour, not pink, unless talking about tracksuits or Dubliners.
we also say sham, feen, beor, old doll, old man, old lade, happenin??, gaff, gat, gattin, pavey, pikey, langer, lang-ball, and the south side is the D4 of cork city. Its were the people who are even softer than glanmireheads live. They pass time by talking about how terrible the northside is and practicin the violin, the musical instument of the irish snob. Mahon and Togher are the norhtsidey gaffs of the southside. Togher is hard, while Mahon is wannabe hard, ie. Togher=Knocka Mahon=Faranree. North Side all d way sham!!! I'll Eat Your Face
Another Cork word that you might come across is CommaT which is a group of people elected to sit on hairy chairs and never make a decision. CommaT's often result in riots outside the Parochial Hall, especially after caterpillar racing (the insect larva, not the JCB) outside the Mon. Beware of CommaT's at all costs.
Also, many Dublin tourists who "may or may not have" come to Cork have yet to be found. It is said by officials that, "They got lost, found themselves in Belfast, and got slaughtered by Ian Paisley." When a reporter questioned the fact that they were heading south, the same official said, "...".