I heeeeeeeaaar Viiiii-OOO-Linnnnnns

Tonight I had a realisation...nay, an epiphany (it all began arround 11:somtehing in the car park of our flats, and ended very promptly).
This is what it was:
No matter how much one tries to fool onesself or justify it, keeping a blog is self-indulgent and a tad pretentious.
-Yes. It doesn't have to start 'Dear diary' or be about Mr. Rochester to qualify as a journal. And fine, we do sometimes talk about deep and terrible things, but ultimately this blog is about me, right? And writing about me on a weekly/daily basis, is an undeniabley self-indulgent thing to be doing, right?
Right.
...
And so there was a 12th comandment after the 11th; 'don't change'. This is what it was:
Thou shalt not subject innocent cyber-space bystanders to the enterior workings of thy twisted mind, nor the mundane trivialities of thine own existence.
...
Thus, from this day forth, Elle est stoned and star gazing decided that this blog will not be about ME.
'twill be about Boris.

Some information on the origin of Boris follows:
Boris, by all accounts is a fictional figment of my father's alliteration...I mean imagination, who's never tired of trying to convince his children otherwise. Nor has he tired of offerring numerous details of said Boris's life, each more outrageous than the last. The truth is yet to be revealed, but whether or not Boris existed, it is certain that he isn't doing any such thing presently.
According to my father, Boris is dead.
You see, Boris was a one legged, Prussian, World War 2 veteran and a very good drinking buddy. After the war Boris used to suffer from very vivid dreams about getting his missing leg back, which would cause him to jump out of bed with excitment in the mornings, only to fall flat on his face.
One day, in his old age, Boris had a car accident crossing the road, and ended up losing his other leg aswell. Not long after, he dreamt that this time he had both his legs back, jumped out of the hospital bed in his usual flurry of excitment, and fell on his face again, for the last time. He died in hosptial of brain damage.

As of tonight, this is the Blog of Boris, whose story above is as my father told it to me. What follows contains the takings of numerous liberties, and fictional aditives which are not good for your health. Wathch for the 'E' numbers, and Lecitin -make sure it's soya.

...And last but not least, to comemorate this farewell to self indulgence, and hello to utter absurdity of Boris-ness, a very bold dedication to the one person I blog about least or never at all, because sometimes we don't do the things we want to do most, so people don't know we want to do them: ...

I'm your host from the Blog of Boris, good night, and farewell for now.