A horrible thought occurred to me. What if we get to midnight at the end of New Year's Eve, and Keith Richards survives? And we're all like:
And then on January 1, 2017, he dies in the grimmest, most horrifying way. And 2017 is standing over the corpse with his weapons, grinning. Happy because he's the coldest motherfucker in history. "Sorry guys. I just wanted to set the tone. You're all fucked now."
Welcome to the end times. Sweet dreams, fuckers.