Like a chop shop mechanic or the All Spark, eightcell excels at transforming vehicles. Back in 2007, he started repurposing various forms of transportation, and last year, he decided to do it again. But this time, his blessing was a curse; intimidated by eightcell's level of expertise, most of his peers opted to sit on the sidelines, applauding politely at every masterpiece instead of making their own. So here's an all-eightcell page in recognition of his efforts:
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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