Oh, KISS. How can we stay mad at you? Sure, Gene just badmouthed the Muslims, and Peter Criss and Ace Frehley are out of the band again (don't worry; the makeup legally belongs to Gene and Paul, so the live mannequins standing in their stead will at least look familiar), and the last album the band pooped out was that god-awful KISS Symphony (note to all rock bands: If we want to listen to symphonic rock, we'll listen to the Moody Blues -- and you don't see anyone listening to the Moody Blues, do you?). But in KISS' defense, none of the above matters when a nine-foot-tall demon is puking blood into the front row. The men of KISS may be crass merchandisers of their own past, but what a glorious past. All that matters is that flame is spit during "God of Thunder" and that Paul drawls out "St. Loooouuuuuie" like he's trying to make the gap between the Arch's legs all wet and quivery. And that, above all, KISS rocks like motherfuckin' Kabuki Warlords of Lust. And they will: KISS, Inc. guarantees it.
Gene Simmons of KISS, bless his heart
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