GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #232: KEITH RICHARDS VS. 2016

I'm calling it right now. This is the year. 2016 has been exceptionally cruel. Thankfully it only has a couple of months left. But in 2016, that is a loooooong time. So here it is. Mark my words. Double down on your celebrity death pool.


This is the year that Keith Richards dies.


It won't happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or even for 30 days from now. I highly suspect it will happen late on New Years Eve, because 2016 is sentient. It's a sociopath. And it wants us to feel hope before it ruthlessly takes it away from us.


Keith Richards has survived a lot. There are so many ridiculous rumors about how he continues through life. Even Bill Hicks (who, I might remind you, was outlived by Richards by FAR) suggested that there would be a nuclear winter, and only the cockroaches would survive . . . and Keith Richards, thinking that the light from the bombs was his curtain call.


Everyone thought Lemmy was immortal. Whoops. But Keith Richards? No one has any doubts. Even if he has to become Richard Coppergate from my book, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS, he will survive. (And I'm sure he'll do the cock transplants, too. You'll see. Maybe.) He will become a kaiju or a giant robot just to sustain his vampiric life.


Except . . . well . . . this isn't a bizarro book. This is real life. Keith Richards is mortal. He's just been super lucky so far.


Until now. 2016 will get him, and it will be overwhelmingly vicious about it, kinda like Negan on Sunday.


But . . . what if I'm wrong? I could be. Maybe Keith Richards *can* do it. What if he does survive 2016? Could you imagine the meme super storm that would result from that?


In the interest of public sanity, I've already started you on this. Here's the meme that will define 2017. Enjoy. Goodnight.