Here's to the first 300 issues of the Insider! And here's to 300 more! And more! And – ow! You didn't need to hit me to say you got my point. Sheesh. How is it that every single person reading this column wanted to hit me at the same time, anyway?
There are two things I know about the Insider's run so far. The first is that the editor must have some kind of wild voodoo power if a reader can hit a columnist's picture and said columnist feels pain as a result. The second is that the Insider has more than succeeded in keeping Concord sassy over these 300 issues. And I'm not just talking about the people in town, either – even the trolley buses strut a little now as they make their way downtown. If the commuter buses pick up on this as they head to Boston, it'll spread. And if the planes at Logan Airport see the commuter buses strutting, well then the whole world will get sassier, won't it?
But where else might the Insider work its magic before the 600th issue comes out sometime in mid to late 2017? Fearing more bodily harm for myself, I checked in with a psychic I found through Craigslist and got a preview of what we'll see in these pages in the coming years.
May 7, 2013: A clever street musician stands next to the clock tower at Eagle Square. The bell rings, and one of my fondest dreams for Concord is realized: that when the bell rings at Eagle Square each hour, a musician will play the opening riff from AC/DC's hit “Hell's Bells.” The Insider writes about this momentous event, and the ensuing buzz turns the guy into a major tourist draw. Even AC/DC guitarist Angus Young drops by to rock with the guy, at which point I realize I could have cashed in on the idea myself and didn't. I publish a memoir called That 'Hell's Bells' Guy Could Have Been Me, which sells negative ten copies – people return copies of the book they didn't even buy.
Nov. 11, 2014: I throw a raucous late-night party in honor of the Insider's 500th issue. The editors are furious, because the 500th issue is still many, many months away, and also it's Election Day and the reporters were supposed to be out covering the results instead of eating my famous fried pretzels on a stick. I try to rebound by standing outside Eagle Square playing “Hell's Bells,” but that fad has long since passed and Angus Young sues me.
Jan. 12, 2016: I befriend a group of llamas living on the outskirts of town, who somehow become super-intelligent. They demand a column of their own. “Ask the Llamanator” is a huge success, circulation rises tenfold and everyone is happy. The llamas don't even want salaries! But they do ask me for one thing: “We'd really like to meet Angus Young.” I cry bitter tears.
So more pain for me after all? Well, maybe not: the psychic I hired for these predictions, you see, once advised a record label to “go all the way with the Milli Vanilli project – no one will ever find out they were lip-syncing.” So, again, here's to 300 more issues. . . and 300 more. . . and – Ow! Hey, quit hitting me!
