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Dave was happy with Metallica. They wrote songs, did drugs, and fought. Like, a LOT. Finally, it all came to a head:
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| . . .wHaT dO yOu MeAn I'm OuT oF tHe BaNd?!? | |
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| I'm sorry Dave, but yes. You've gotten in fights with people on behalf of your dog, your drinking, and those 12 songs about unicorns fucking you wanted to record. | |
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| . . .wElL, oK, i MeAnT bEsIdEs ThAt. | |
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| Besides that, we find your weird baby face and shiny bozo-like red hair to be distracting and offensive to our sensibilities. | |
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| mAn, FuCk YoU gUyS. I'm GoNnA FoRm A bAnD tHaT'lL DESTROY yOu AsShOlEs! | |
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| Take your best shot there, Persus. You sorely underrate Metallica's ability to self-destruct repeatedly and awesomely. | |
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