“From Pyro to Prestige: KISS Swaps Fireworks for Formalwear at Kennedy Center Honors!”

Ladies and gentlemen, put down your air guitars and hold onto your platform boots, because the end is truly nigh: the Original KISS lineup — yes, the guys who once spat blood, breathed fire, and sold everything from coffins to condoms — are now getting the Kennedy Center Honors.

That’s right.

America’s once-least-respected glam rock entrepreneurs, a band that made an entire career out of face paint, pyrotechnics, and songs with lyrics a caveman could understand, are now being ushered into the marble halls of cultural legitimacy.

Cue the national anthem played on distorted guitar and imagine a bald eagle with black star makeup crying a single tear.

The announcement stunned both fans and critics.

Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, and Peter Criss, collectively responsible for more rhinestone capes than Elvis and Liberace combined, are now officially being recognized by one of the most prestigious awards in the United States.

To put this into perspective, the Kennedy Center has previously honored people like Aretha Franklin, Meryl Streep, and Yo-Yo Ma.

Now add four men who once sang “Lick It Up” while covered in pyrotechnic residue and beer.

America has finally decided: art is subjective, and KISS is apparently high art if you squint hard enough.

“This is the greatest honor of our career,” the band declared in a press statement, their words practically dripping with humility — or maybe Axe Body Spray, it’s hard to tell.

“We’ve always believed in the power of rock and roll,” Gene Simmons added before immediately trademarking the phrase “Kennedy Center Rock™” for a line of commemorative lunchboxes.

The irony of KISS being honored for their “contributions to American culture” was not lost on social media.

Twitter (or X, if you’re a masochist who still calls it that) exploded with reactions ranging from “This is proof we live in a simulation” to “Finally, the founding fathers’ dream realized: powdered wigs replaced with demon horns. ”

One user summed it up perfectly: “We’ve gone from Beethoven to ‘Beth’ — and I’m okay with that. ”

Of course, no KISS story is complete without drama.

Fans immediately began speculating about whether the band members would reunite onstage at the ceremony.

Will Ace and Peter, the estranged ex-members who’ve spent decades trading insults with Gene and Paul, finally kiss and make up?

Or will they show up in separate limos, refuse to share a dressing room, and then passive-aggressively play tambourines during the tribute?

One insider told us, “If Gene sees this as a chance to sell commemorative Kennedy Center guitars for $9,999 apiece, you bet your face paint he’ll make it happen. ”

Even the usually staid Washington crowd is bracing itself.

Picture Nancy Pelosi clapping politely while Gene Simmons sticks out his mile-long tongue.

Imagine Mitch McConnell watching Ace Frehley do a 10-minute guitar solo while sparks fly out of his pickups.

Picture Paul Stanley screaming “HELLO WASHINGTON D. C. !” into a mic that hasn’t heard that much reverb since Bill Clinton’s saxophone performance.

It’s a level of absurdity only America could produce.

But maybe we shouldn’t be surprised.

KISS has always been the ultimate American dream story.

Four guys from New York decided subtlety was for losers, slapped on makeup, and turned themselves into comic book characters.

They then proceeded to sell more merchandise than actual music.

Critics mocked them, parents feared them, and yet here they are — still standing after fifty years of platform shoes and lawsuits.

If that’s not the American spirit, what is?

Fake cultural critic Dr. Melody Spandex (definitely not a pseudonym we just invented) put it bluntly: “When a band that once had its own KISS Kasket is being honored by the Kennedy Center, we’re not just celebrating music.

We’re celebrating capitalism, resilience, and the fact that somehow, in America, wearing a cat costume can get you a seat next to presidents. ”

Still, the news raises questions.

What exactly are we honoring here? The music? The marketing genius? The fact that Gene Simmons has survived on a diet of ego alone for half a century? Or maybe we’re just admitting that kitsch is culture, and KISS is the ultimate kitsch.

After all, their songs are iconic in a blunt-force-trauma kind of way.

Who among us hasn’t screamed “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” after two too many margaritas? Who hasn’t secretly thought “Rock and Roll All Nite” would be a better national anthem than “The Star-Spangled Banner”?

Even the Kennedy Center panel seemed to wrestle with this.

An anonymous source reportedly confessed, “Honestly, we just wanted to see if Gene Simmons would show up in full costume and demand a cut of the ticket sales.

Plus, Paul Stanley promised to hit a high note so powerful it might crack the Lincoln Memorial. ”

And let’s not forget the optics.

The Kennedy Center Honors ceremony is usually a classy affair — tuxedos, gowns, tasteful tributes.

Now, imagine the Original KISS lineup rolling in like they’re about to headline a 1978 Halloween special.

Black leather.

Seven-inch boots.

Smoke machines.

Will Joe Biden give his speech while confetti cannons explode behind him? Will the Obamas do polite headbobs as Ace Frehley rips into “Detroit Rock City”? And perhaps most importantly, will someone finally explain to the Supreme Court justices who Peter Criss is?

KISS fans, naturally, are ecstatic.

“This proves we were right all along,” said one fan wearing face paint outside of Graceland Records.

“People said we were wasting our lives following this band around.

But now they’re Kennedy Center-approved, which makes us basically American heroes. ”

Another fan added, “I can finally tell my mom she was wrong when she said KISS would never amount to anything.

Suck it, Mom!”

Meanwhile, critics who spent years mocking the band are now backpedaling faster than Gene Simmons at a child support hearing.

Rolling Stone, which once declared KISS “a marketing gimmick dressed as a rock band,” is now preparing a 12-page tribute issue titled Legends in Leather: The Cultural Triumph of KISS.

Smithsonian curators are allegedly debating whether to display one of Paul Stanley’s chest hair clippings in the Museum of American History.

But perhaps the greatest twist of all is what this means for the future.

If KISS can get Kennedy Center Honors, who’s next? Will Nickelback finally be declared the “voice of a generation”? Will Insane Clown Posse get a Nobel Prize for chemistry (for their work with Faygo)? Will Kid Rock be asked to join the Library of Congress? The possibilities are endless — and terrifying.

For now, though, we can only prepare for the spectacle.

Picture it: Gene Simmons sticking his tongue out for the cameras while draped in a medal of honor.

Paul Stanley giving a heartfelt speech about the power of rock and roll while fireworks accidentally set the curtains on fire.

Ace Frehley mumbling incoherently while everyone nods politely.

Peter Criss weeping as he realizes his Catman makeup has run into his tuxedo collar.

The crowd on their feet, applauding, as America collectively agrees: culture is whatever we say it is, and right now, culture is KISS.

In the end, maybe that’s the beauty of this whole ridiculous situation.

The Kennedy Center is supposed to honor the best of America — and what’s more American than taking something critics called trash, selling it to the masses, and then eventually convincing the establishment it was art all along? That’s not just the story of KISS.

That’s the story of America itself.

Rock on, democracy.

Rock on.