His name was Johnny, and he was walking home from work one day with nary a care in the world. He walked by the Ticketmaster, spotted the tickets for Dillinger Escape Plan displayed prominently in the showcase window, and thought to himself that he really should walk in and pick up a pair. Someday.

But someday never came for Johnny. Moments after he walked by the Ticketmaster a renegade flying saucer from the Exlaxia Quadrant swooped down out of the skies and vaporized poor Johnny right where he stood.

Then there’s Susan. A popular lady, Susan worked long hours at one of those uptown law firms where she specialized in defending well-to-do white collar criminals who made their own fortunes by sucking the life out of corporate retirement plans. Late one night, while taking a pause for the cause, she happened to overhear the janitor’s radio announcing ticket onsales for Don Henley and Vanilla Ice. Those shows sound great, she thought. Too bad I’m stuck here working on new trial requests for all these Enron executives.

Too bad, indeed, for it was at that moment that a flock of crazed Arctic Butt Wobblers burst through the window of Susan’s 47th floor office, grabbed her, and flew her off to the North Pole, never to be seen again.

Life is like that sometimes. It’s like Joey in Philly who always put off seeing Indigo Girls. Until one day he made up his mind and marched straight down to the Ticketmaster, only to trip over a curb and fall into an inter-dimensional time warp which placed him smack dab in the middle of 1973, bell bottoms, platform shoes and all. Now he spends all his time talking to his pet rock about how he could have been sitting pretty for Norah Jones, Eric Clapton and ZZ Top. That is, if only…

Just like Harry from Chicago, who really wanted to see Van Halen, but on the morning of the initial onsale, decided to play golf with his buddies instead. You guessed it. A psycho caddy wrapped a five iron around poor Harry’s neck just as he was about to birdie the eighth hole. Needless to say, Harry lost his chance to see Eddie and company. Of course, the caddy also lost his chance for a tip, but that’s another story.

Our point? Our point is, you never know what will happen in this crazy, wacky game we call Life. Flesh eating bacteria, rabid poodles, bipolar army ants – they’re out there, and they’re waiting for their moment to pounce upon you and turn your world into a living hell, thus preventing you from seeing the artist or band of your dreams. Do you want this to happen to you?

Of course not. That’s why we strongly urge you to buy your concert tickets now. Dokken, Kenny Chesney, the Pixies – it makes no difference. When your time comes your time comes, and do you really want to check out of this world without seeing The Strokes, Sonic Youth or Cannibal Corpse?

In fact, it’s just like we were telling Tony Randall the other day…