spides...a plague upon man. Native to "norn iron" (n.ireland), they speak a corrupted form of english. Kitted out in garish shellsuits, huge medallions and baseball caps, these skinheaded monstrosities venture from their estates in packs to descend upon civilisation, ready to "bate thaw sheet outta wenkers." Intoxicated by a mixture of "wheet 'lightnin" cider and trance anthems, they hit dangerous speeds in their souped-up red corsas before comitting minor crimes. They speak a language incomprehensible to normal humans;for example "e waant a makkie dees burger wi' nay shay" or,in english; "i want a macdonalds burger with no relish please." It is paradigmatic of all steeks to have mindlessly violent sectarian opinions; the troubles in n. Ireland were caused by spides, and their estates are daubed with paramilitary propaganda such as "red hand commandos" or "up the provos".English hip-hop hoods think they are tough, but where i'm from, the spides eat Ali G wannabes for breakfast and wash it down with a pint of gravel. beware.
an archetypal spide's day consists of;
1. Get up. Swear.
2. breakfast; beans in a cup+ cider.
3. Don't go to work/school. Hang out "with tha lads"
4. watch the footy.
5. Evening at last. Gather your posse and find a student/fruit/hippie/o.a.p and "bate tha fock" out of them
6. One the crime spree is over, get in souped up corsa , turn on dance music and spit out the window.
7. go home.