JD is a fucking idiot and a moron of the highest degree and he's a close friend becuase I respect and admire high standards and JD is the fucking George Washington of Moronic Manual. Somehow, JD got the information that I'm operating a confidential information portal (blog) and writing all kinds of infernal things about my friends. So, few days back I received a call at 3 in the night. JD is a bloody vampire and can't stand the sunlight (apparently his skins is not suited to the Indian summer -- and JD if you're reading this, I'll fucking peel it and hang it in my drawing room as a souvenier). Here's how the conversation went:
(Please note that JD has a bias towards British accent and words, especially "Fuck". JD pronounces it as "Fook" and will slit your throat if you disagree that this is the correct and authentic pronunciation.
JD: Sid!!!
Me: JD???!!!
JD: Sid. Fookin' hell.
Me: WTF??? JD, are you dead?
JD: No.
Me: Then, why are you giving me a call? We agreed you won't call me at 3 unless you're dying or dead.
JD: What if I am dying?
Me: I'm sitting a 1000 fucking miles away. Call KS and ask him to make sure that you're dead. Tell him to shoot you a couple of times just in case and send me an SMS if he's convinced that you're pushing up daisies.
JD: What daisies?
Me: Means when you're dead.
JD: Ohh...
JD: But this is not what I called for.
Me: Then?
JD: I was just reading that page you write on.
Me: (Page, I write on?) What fucking page?
JD: That blog thing.
Me: Ohh. JD, are you sick or something? You never "read" stuff. Since when you started reading?
JD: Fook me.
Me: There's no need, is there? You were born fucked.
JD: How come you've written about KS and RS but not me?
Me: JD, it's fucking 3 past midnight. I have to go to office in the morning.
JD: Like fook you do. Fookin' writing stories about others and all. I want a fookin story about me in that page and I want that now.
Me: Like fuck you do. I ain't writing about anything and not especially you.
JD: And fookin why would that be?
Me: Because you are a pestering megalomaniac and it's triple fucking am in the morning.
JD: Would you fookin quit singing "3 in the mornin". You used to sleep at 5:30. What the fook has gotten into you.
Me: A job has gotten into me JD.
JD: I don't wanna hear that. If you won't write about me then I'll call every night at 2.
Me: Ok, JD. Give me a couple of days and I'll make you the star of my blog (like anybody would be reading it).
JD: (Chuckles) Write about that Joggin' thing. Remember when we didn't sleep till 6 and decided to go for a jog?
Me: Sure, JD.
JD: Or I have a new story. Yesterday, I met this...
Me: JD, JD...
JD: Yeah?
Me: Fuck, off.
My head was spinning and JD's dastardly voice was still ringing in my ears. You'd think what's the big deal in taking a call at 2. Let me tell you something, any call at 2 is tough but if it's JD then that equals a fucking heart attack. And I couldn't afford a second attack after that so I switch my mobile off every night after 12 and even then the fear of this 21st century Dracula is such that an iron-willed man like me is writing this very entry about JD.
Ladies and Lads, introducing the evil, "authentic" pronouncer of "fuck", the devil in devil's soul, the goddamn assasin of goodness in heaven, the one and only...J fucking D.
[Note: JD, I've written this infernal thing. My soul is drenched in guilt for writing this filty description. So, if you ever fucking called me again for so much as a word in my blog, I'm going to chop off your balls and sell it to the gypsies.]
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