Best Picture goes to The Assassination of Cowboy Jesus by the Coward Pontius Pilate

Mate it’s the best smell ever. Katie Perry’s snatch and Jonah Hills anus. What’s a shower?

Criss Angel attempts his newest trick, turning grapes into raisins, and then selling the raisins for drugs.

Oddly, this is the most normal I’ve seen him dressed in quite some time.

“Massage your grapes?”

O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?

ah here’s my daily dose of asshattery and tomfuckery.

“Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s sloppy blowjob in my limo?”

I love the guy. Way more interesting than Katy Perry. I mean, he’s clutching GRAPES for crissake. Grapes!

I wonder if this guy comprehends the sheer magnitude of his ‘overness’.

“Me cloths is rahty. Geht it. Om a regguhlar bloke juss lawk you.”

Raisins! Raisins for the common people!

He looks like he’s about to play Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream with a traveling Gypsy Shakespearean Company.

Birds like bread. Imaginary birds like grapes.

” an’ ‘ats ‘ow you finga one o’ ‘em amazonian women innit?”

You can just see him chewing them up and spitting them out cartoon style, nailing holes into cop cars. Or so he wants us to think.

The grapes are just a prop he’s using to Give someone of camera instructions on the three steps to giving him the perfect blow job.