In a perfect world, KISS would essentially go away. No Mini-KISS. No Dr. Pepper commercials. No comics. No merch. No more forced pop culture love affair with 4 dudes from NY who figured out they could get laid by wearing make-up, adopting some fantastic persona, and singing about their dongs—for 30 years. Let them only exist in gas station CD racks, Phantom Of The Park on VHS, and Print Mafia posters. Anything else is just sad and wrong for all involved.