When you think of Ozzy Osbourne, you probably picture a bat-biting, stage-rampaging, eyeliner-smudged icon of heavy metal chaos. But in a turn as unpredictable as the man himself, the Prince of Darkness has left fans stunned—not with a final scream into the mic, but with iced tea and a bit of spit.
Yes, you read that right.
Ozzy Osbourne’s latest “hit” isn’t a song, an album, or even a public meltdown. It’s a collector’s item: 10 special-edition cans of Liquid Death Iced Tea—each not only autographed by the rock legend, but also containing traces of his DNA. Sold for $450 each, the limited-edition cans were encased in lab-quality containers and pitched with a wild, tongue-in-cheek premise: that someday, maybe, just maybe, science will allow fans to clone Ozzy and keep him rocking for centuries.
Welcome to 2025, where the merging of celebrity worship, science fiction, and satire is not just possible—it’s sold out.
Ozzy Osbourne’s journey from working-class Birmingham boy to global rock icon has been nothing short of mythic. A founding member of Black Sabbath, Osbourne’s music pioneered the heavy metal genre. But it’s his off-stage antics—biting the head off a live bat, defying death more times than we can count, and starring in a reality show before it was cool—that elevated him into pop culture immortality.
Still, even by Ozzy’s standards, this latest collaboration with Liquid Death is delightfully bonkers.
Liquid Death, the beverage brand known for its dark humor, skull-emblazoned packaging, and commitment to sustainability, tapped into Ozzy’s legacy in a way no other brand has dared. Rather than go the traditional celebrity endorsement route, the company leaned fully into Ozzy’s icon status. They had him drink 10 cans of their low-calorie iced tea and sealed those very same cans—complete with DNA traces and his autograph—for sale.
The brand’s mock-serious pitch: “Once technology and federal law permit, fans can use this DNA to try to clone Ozzy in the future and enjoy him for hundreds of years to come.”
Ozzy, never one to miss a beat, responded in a press release with a statement as irreverent as expected: “Clone me, you bastards.”
This isn’t Liquid Death’s first DNA-themed stunt. The brand has built its reputation on pushing the boundaries of marketing absurdity—and making it work. Since its founding, it has blended metal aesthetics, environmental activism, and Gen Z humor to remarkable effect.
In 2021, the company teamed up with skateboarding legend Tony Hawk, who contributed his own blood to be mixed into red paint for limited-edition skateboards. “If you have my blood, that means you have my DNA,” Hawk quipped at the time.
Then came drummer Travis Barker of Blink-182 fame, who collaborated with Liquid Death on a faux “Enema of the State” collectible kit, playing on the name of the band’s iconic album. Steve-O from Jackass had voodoo dolls made with his hair. Comedian Tom Segura was featured on a “Recycling Glory Hole” receptacle.
The formula is clear: mix one part celebrity DNA, one part irreverent humor, and one part product that’s actually pretty good—and you’ve got a viral marketing campaign with just enough weirdness to go mainstream.
Andy Pearson, vice president of creative at Liquid Death, summed it up best:
“Liquid Death is all about making healthy, sustainable choices feel insanely fun. And there’s no one who’s had more fun than Ozzy.”
Ozzy Osbourne’s partnership with Liquid Death comes at a poignant moment in his life and career. After decades of touring, the rock icon is stepping away from the stage, with his final live performance scheduled for Saturday, July 5.
For many fans, it’s the end of an era. Ozzy’s live shows—full of fire, madness, and gut-wrenching metal riffs—have been central to his legend. His body has endured Parkinson’s disease, multiple surgeries, and numerous health scares over the past few years. Though he’s fought bravely to continue performing, he recently admitted that physically, he can no longer give fans the kind of show they deserve.
But if anyone can find a way to remain immortal, it’s Ozzy.
And in a way, this DNA-infused iced tea project is a hilarious yet poetic sendoff. Rather than fade quietly, Ozzy is turning his departure into a joke about resurrection, science fiction, and fan obsession. It’s his way of staying eternally punk—even if his body can’t keep up anymore.
The cans were priced at $450 each—not cheap for a beverage, even one that might include strands of a rock star’s hair or spit. But that didn’t stop them from selling out almost immediately after going on sale June 17.
Each can came sealed in a transparent lab-grade display case, with an authenticity card confirming its place among the sacred ten. The entire rollout was designed to look and feel like a mix between a high-end science exhibit and a rock-and-roll altar.
Of course, while Liquid Death’s talk of cloning is tongue-in-cheek, the idea isn’t entirely far-fetched in the age of CRISPR and synthetic biology. It’s highly unlikely that anything substantial could be done with the minute DNA traces from an aluminum can—but in a world where pet dogs are cloned for thousands of dollars, who’s to say some superfan won’t try?
Pearson joked about the future possibilities, saying, “Hopefully the 10 people who bought the cans will do the right thing with them and give us more Ozzys for generations to come.”
As news of the promotion spread, reactions online ranged from delighted disbelief to wary curiosity.
“I don’t know whether to drink it, freeze it, or build a lab,” one fan commented on X (formerly Twitter).
Another wrote, “Ozzy is a genius. I’d pay twice that for a clone of 1981 Ozzy.”
Still, not everyone was on board. Critics voiced concerns about the ethics of commodifying human DNA, even jokingly. Others wondered if the sale could trigger regulatory concerns about biohazard handling or genetic privacy.
But most fans took the stunt for what it was: a brilliantly strange, utterly unique way to honor one of music’s most unpredictable figures.
From his Black Sabbath days to the family reality show that introduced him to millennials, Ozzy Osbourne has always known how to evolve. He’s never been afraid to look ridiculous if it means staying relevant—and perhaps that’s why his career has outlasted so many others.
He’s been a pioneer, a punchline, a survivor. And now, a semi-satirical candidate for cloning.
The DNA cans project may be over, but its legacy is just another chapter in the never-ending story of Ozzy: part rock god, part mad scientist’s fantasy, part cultural time capsule.
With his final show approaching, fans are left wondering how they’ll say goodbye to the man who made them believe in the power of raw sound and total rebellion. But as Ozzy himself might say—maybe this isn’t goodbye. Maybe it’s “see you again… in clone form.”
Liquid Death’s campaign, beneath its silliness, captures something profoundly true about fandom, legacy, and celebrity culture. We don’t just want to remember our idols—we want to preserve them, remake them, even resurrect them.
It’s weird, yes. But it’s also human.
And no one understands that better than Ozzy.
As the campaign concluded and the last of the cans found their way into collectors’ hands, Ozzy released one more message to fans:
“All I’ve ever wanted is to entertain. If that means someday there’s a hundred of me out there still doing it—then bloody hell, let’s make it happen.”
If the idea of multiple Ozzys walking the Earth one day sounds absurd—well, that’s exactly the point.
Because in the world of Ozzy Osbourne, absurdity and brilliance have always gone hand in hand.
