Thinking of adding a stuffed body to this old fart, and dressing him up in a dirty night gown and a night cap.
Boris has lived a life as a introverted recluse for most of his life, but 6 months ago he was forced to move out of the house he had lived in his whole life, as his nephew Vlad wanted to gut the house, remodel and move his family into it.
Vlad made all the arrangements for the move - Boris was soon moved out, and into one of the rat infested old Victorians on 58th Street.
He has not uttered one word since the move and last night, as Augusta Watson in the apartment on top, had wrapped up her private, intensive home course in Balkan dance, there was a knock on her door.
She opened, sweat dripping down her quavering voluminous body, and there stood Boris, dressed in his nightcap and gown, a cast iron pan in his hand. He knocked her over the head with the pan and stuffed a Tokyo Turnip in each of her nostrils, and a French Breakfast Radish down her throat.
These are Boris' mugshots.