In the ever-revolving door of celebrity mortality, a morbid truth emerges: some stars just refuse to die. While fleeting pop stars fade faster than a Snapchat story, the unholy trinity of rock and roll - Ozzy Osbourne, Willie Nelson, and Keith Richards - persist like cockroaches in a nuclear winter.

Let's face it, these guys defy the laws of nature. Ozzy, the Prince of Darkness, has snorted enough bat wings and chugged enough tequila to fell a lesser man a thousand times over. Willie Nelson, a walking advertisement for the benefits of ranch dressing and a good toke, seems perpetually fueled by Willie's Reserve and cosmic dust. And Keith Richards? Well, Keith Richards is Keith Richards. He's basically a walking, wrinkled testament to the fact that some people are simply too mean to die.

The average lifespan in the US is a measly 78. These titans of rock, on the other hand, are collectively pushing 250. At this point, it's easier to list the things they haven't survived than what they have: bad hair decisions, questionable fashion choices, enough groupies to populate a small country, and enough combined liver damage to fill a swimming pool.

Scientists are baffled. Geneticists are scrambling for Ozzy's DNA, hoping to unlock the secret to his longevity (though most suspect the answer lies somewhere between bat DNA and an aversion to vegetables). Cardiologists are studying Willie's perpetually stoned heart, trying to understand how it keeps ticking after decades of Willie's favorite recreational activities. Meanwhile, Keith Richards just shrugs and lights another cigarette, a silent monument to the fact that rock and roll might actually be the fountain of youth (if the fountain also smelled heavily of cigarettes and spilled Jack Daniels).

The implications of their immortality are staggering. Imagine a world where Ozzy Osbourne is the grumpy old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn (which, ironically, would probably be the safest place for those kids). Picture Willie Nelson as the wizened sage doling out folksy wisdom at 120 years old, still forgetting the lyrics to "On the Road Again." And Keith Richards? Well, Keith Richards will probably just be Keith Richards, eternally preserved in a state of perpetual middle-aged debauchery.

Here's a glimpse into a not-so-distant future:

2047: A holographic Ozzy Osbourne, still in his signature bathrobe and cradling a microphone stand, performs "Crazy Train" at his 100th birthday concert. The audience, a mix of cyborgs and people with anti-aging treatments, moshes with surprising geriatric enthusiasm.

2069: Willie Nelson, now sporting a ZZ Top-length beard and a hoveround adorned with Willie's Reserve decals, cruises through a legalized marijuana dispensary. He winks at the cashier, a bewildered teenager with cybernetic implants.

2100: Keith Richards, miraculously unchanged, sits in a rocking chair on Mars, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He strums a power chord on his electric guitar, the sound echoing through the barren Martian landscape. A single tear rolls down his cheek. Is it a tear of regret? A tear of joy? Frankly, at this point, who can tell?

The rest of us will be long gone, reduced to dust or recycled into protein bars. But these three? They'll still be here, a testament to the enduring power of rock and roll, questionable life choices, and a whole lot of luck.

Of course, there are downsides to their immortality. Imagine having to listen to Ozzy ramble about pigeons for eternity. Picture attending Willie Nelson concerts that go on for longer than your entire life expectancy. And Keith Richards? Well, we can only hope he eventually gets around to finishing that cigarette.

So, the next time you light up a cigarette, pour yourself a drink a little too strong, or contemplate auditioning for American Idol, remember: Ozzy, Willie, and Keith are watching. And judging. And probably outliving you by a century.  /s