A Line-by-Line Analysis of Miley Cyrus’ “We Can’t Stop”

Miley Cyrus, daughter of notable country star and probable redneck Billy Ray Cyrus, has long been an object of media scrutiny.  However, she has changed all of this with the release of her new video “We Can’t Stop.”  This video sets Miley apart, as she takes on subject matters rarely heard in pop music such as partying, and hooking up with others.  However, not all of us are smart and mature enough to understand Miley, because she’s really artsy and mature now and we just don’t understand her because she’s that fucking deep.  So as someone who took an english class once[1], I’ll do the service of explaining this magnificent song elucidating its meaning to those not capable of understanding.[2]

An Open Letter Apology To Attendees of Last Night’s Hannah Montana Concert

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