Please tell me that David Ortiz is not a parrothead. Tell me he's not a middle-aged ex-hippie, dreaming of a life spent drunken on a beach while toiling away at his work-a-day job and never doing anything about his unhappiness. Tell me that he's just got lousy taste in food and goes to cheesy chain restaurants with volcanoes and fake airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Tell me that he just happened to be unlucky enough on this night to get caught in the middle. That's all I want to hear.
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