To everyone who attended last night’s Hannah Montana concert:
After spending some time thinking about my actions last night, I have no doubt in my mind that I owe the most sincere and heartfelt apology to everyone who suffered the grave misfortune of seeing my behavior. Boasting a blood alcohol content presumably over .4, I acted in a manner that was immature, unruly, and worst of all, wholly unfit to be seen by the many children who were there.
It's probably a good thing I was not allowed to constitute a leg of Hannah's heinous throne.
I truly wish I could even give an explanation for my presence at the concert. To be perfectly honest, yesterday was a bit of a whirlwind – I woke up this morning in the arms of a homeless person on Michigan Avenue, and only came to discover the nature of this incident through a series of hardly comprehensible text messages, a police citation I found stuffed in my boxers, and a rather unflattering article on the third page of the Chicago Tribune. Needless to say, I was horrified to learn about the magnitude of my heinousness at last night’s show.
I suppose I must begin this apology by acknowledging the abject inappropriateness of my attire. According to a slew of picture messages sent to a wide variety of ex-girlfriends, I chose to arrive at the concert clad quite scantily. The teal, sequin-covered top was hardly something to which the eyes of young females should be subjected, especially considering the unnecessary reveal of my midriff, and with it, my neon-orange-dyed happy trail. Moreover, I showed an unreasonable lack of foresight in choosing to wear a three-sizes-too-small pair of hot pink running shorts. I’m sure you’ll agree that they didn’t look especially becoming with my knee-high black army boots. I hope that the future mothers of America weren’t terribly haunted and scarred by the image of an out-of-shape twenty-year-old dressed like a whorish cheerleader at a Belly-dancing class in South Jersey.
Regrettably, my ill-advised attire wasn’t the extent of my behavior last night that warrants profuse apology. My general display of social unawareness is made quite obvious in a video uploaded to YouTube shortly after the concert. Apparently, in my altered state of mind, I was under the impression that “Party in the U.S.A.” was a jingoist musical manifesto, and treated it as such. It was completely unpardonable of me to strip off the few pieces of clothing I was wearing and run laps on the stage, waving an American flag and provocatively touching Miley Cyrus every time I passed her. I am genuinely thankful that a few upstanding members of the Chicago Police Department took this as their cue to pin me to the stage and savagely beat me with clubs; I shudder to imagine how I might have acted if I had still been in the audience during “Hey Now.”
The looks she shot me while I screamed at her "TAKE IT OFF DIRTY GIRL" weren't quite this seductive.
However, it does seem that I found my way back into the concert, though I can’t explain how. This is probably the part of the night that calls for the most pronounced apologies. The way I accosted young female tweens was simply unacceptable, and I can make no excuses for myself. To begin with, it is in no way fair to assume that they “would all grow up to be back-stabbing whores who only want to use me to get closer to my older brother Mitch.” Additionally, use of the words “underdeveloped” and “flat-chested” were absolutely unjustified. Most of all, I must apologize from the bottom of my heart for screaming that I wished for them to all die in childbirth.
I assure you all that I am usually an upstanding young gentleman, and that this is an extremely isolated incident. I guarantee that I will never again come to a Hannah Montana concert and drunkenly heckle young girls. Please accept this apology; I can only ask humbly for your forgiveness for the unspeakable atrocities I committed.
Cordially,
Ross Packingham
Sherman Ave 