[This is already the greatest memorial service ever. It's exactly as much of a disaster as Dave would've wanted, probably.]

Right, so I'm just going to say a few words here as a sort of tribute —

[She actually clears her throat here, good grief.]

Dave, the way you're moving had us in a trance,
As DJ, you turned it up,
Your sick beats were our jams,
We haven't got Moscato,
And haven't lost our pants,
But you gave us these apples and you did it with no hands.

[And with that, she waves her hands, and in midair explodes a sudden flash of light not unlike a firework, except in the shape of a drawing rescued from the network, courtesy of our departed hero.

As it fades away into oblivion, she salutes.]