Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Northern Ireland

As the song says “You sain’t seen nothing yet”. Belfast, in my opinion, is the Mecca for Spidey (Chav) behaviour. Take the worst of the ned element of Scotland, the chav element of England, marry it together and – voila – you have the Norn Iron Spide. The Belfast Spide is also affectionately referred to as the “Wa-Wa” – due to the way in which these people pronounce “what” and how often it is used in conversation with normal people. Said correctly, its somewhat akin to the noise a penguin would make.

Hoopy Ear-rings are the normal accessory of choice for your English Chavette. The Norn Iron Wa-Wa tries to incorporate cultural elements into their attire and thus Hoopy Ear-ring becomes Cladagh Hoopy Ear-ring (don’t know what a Cladagh Ring is – look it up on the Internet). This however is for the Catholic Wa-Wa. Protestant Wa-Wa’s tend to go for good old Hoopy Ear-rings. As for the rings themselves – Dad, Mum, Paramilitary groupings – they all make suitable adornments for the Wa-Wa. And not only rings – necklaces too. Not cultural enough – well, how about a nice terrorist slogan tattooed on your arm.

Clothing – again, taken from the Scottish Ned, Celtic and Rangers tops abound. Married with the abundance of Lowcost ShellSuits on offer from TK-Max and you are ready for a night out on the tiles.

As for the drinking – its never to early to start is it?
These people have been seen standing outside the local offies half an hour before opening time, trying to make sure the last of the Buckfast holds out until then. And then its get hammered for noon , into the bar for one (since its classy to drink in a licensed establishment) and then get thrown out for trying to have it away in the corner while ordinary people suddenly find themselves starring at the decor as they try to blot out whats happening. Because if you make eye-contact…

“Wa da f*ck are ye lukin at? Aye’ll knack yer ballix in. My Da is in de – Aye’ll have ye f*ckin shat mate….”

As for kids……Jesus H Christ…..this is an actual conversation that took place between a Wa-Wa Ma and Child

*scene – 3.30 in the afternoon, somewhere in Belfast. Local youths are throwing bricks and bottles at a passing police landrover in an estate. Door opens on one of the houses *

Ma: Mickey! Mickey! Get in ‘ere – yer f*ckin’ dinner is getting cold…
Son: *brick in hand, ready to be launched* Ach Ma, go f*ck yerself…I’m playin’….
Ma: Well I’m f*cking it in the bin if yer not quik…

The disease is spreading…..come to Belfast. And Leave again feeling grateful you don’t live here.


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Northern Ireland

It has been a long time since I have set foot on the streets of my hometown, Belfast. I have seen much of the world, and have realised that the chav is a universal species, with each different area having its own particular breed.
The Northern Irish Spide is one of the most dangerous.
As has been suggested in previous topics, the main reason confronting a spide is so difficult is because of their possible links to paramilitaries. However, as any true denizen of the North knows, these threats are generally hollow. Indeed, the number of times I have been told ‘Eel gat the fockin provies on ye!’ (Spide accent) far outnumber the occasions on which men with guns want to hurt me.
As well as their shitty taches’, their love of Buckfast and Dutch Gold lager, the true spide has a love of techno. Not normal techno, but ultra-hardcore, 345 Bpm, quasi-German shite, with some fucktard from Portadown singing lyrics that are intelectually equivalent to a dogs fart.
The recent popularity of hard rock hasn’t made the spides any more relaxed. Instead, they have become more resentful of their own benefit-supported s******e lives, and have been taking out their frustrations on those citizens of Belfast who don’t listen to DJ Tizer, who can speak properly, and who never wear sports gear. Yes, I mean the perenially abused ‘Hippies’, a Hippy being anyone who meets any of the above criteria.
Indeed, the Belfast spide is the scummiest of them all. They will quite happily break a bottle in your face, stab your girlfriend with it, and then stamp on your head. This is not an exaggeration. They really are total scum.
So to any visitor to Belfast, it doesn’t matter if you are English, Irish, Scots or whatever, the spides dont care, they just want to ‘knack yer fock in.’
My advice is to avoid areas like Royal Avenue, Great Victoria Street and Corn Market. At night these places thrive with scum who enjoy dealing out beatings with 10 of their mates.
Also, avoid the Dublin Road at closin time. Dempseys is renowned for its spide clientele, and vicious beatings often occur just outside its door. Its so bad that the PSNI regularly station riot police there at the weekends.
One last thing, although most threats of ‘My Da is in the ‘RA’ (IRA) are empty, I do have one friend who ignored this warning and ended up with a bullet in his knee.


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Northern Ireland

Come to Belfast! Thats what the advert says… but let me assure you, you better bring protection.

Its chav-central my friends and the scum are everywhere. The main chav hangouts are Royal avenue and the adjacent streets off it – jeezus, we even have 2 jjbs on the same street, not 3 shops apart!! And theres a jjb megastore at the end of Royal Avenue as well!!

Of course, being N.Ireland, we also have a Rangers and a Celtic store almost beside each other so naturally you can find them there (although I won’t slag, I’m not sectarian).

However, regardless of religion, its the gear they wear that really gets me. Nike, adidas etc coupled with cheap gold soverign rings and mr t style chains – a grand total of about 20 quid out of the nearest s**t jewellers. Add a shite ‘tache and you’ve got the whole package.

Then, we have the chavettes or ‘bitches’ as the males like to call them. Now, some of these girls are quite good looking, or would be if they didn’t cake on fake tan, gold hula hoop earrings, and wear crappy towelling tracksuits that leave little to the imagination (especially the fat ones).
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