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Finally, Dave found his raison d'etre on a particularly dark night of the soul:
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| aW mAn, GhOsT oF pErSeUs, I tOtAlLy FuCkEd Up. MeTaLlIcA fIrEd Me, I'm On DrUgS, aNd My WeIrD SyNtAx Is hArD fOr RiOtMoOn To TyPe. | |
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| That's fucked, yo. So what *do* you want to do with your life. | |
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| I dUnNo. I wAnT tO fOrM a KiCkAsS mEtAl BaNd, BuT i CaN't ThInK oF a GoOd NaMe. | |
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| A good, rockin, kick-ass metal band, name, huh? Well, lemme think . . .How about . . . | |
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| STOP DRILLING! YOU JUST HIT OIL! (and cured my speech impediment!) YAY GHOST-OF-PERSEUS! | |
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