Sunday night, I felt a little ill. I was coughing, sniffling and just not feeling well. That was until I saw my favorite band on television. After that, I just wanted to vomit and cry all at the same time.

Let me explain.

Most people would be happy to see their favorite musical act performing on TV. It would be a moment of glee and joy. This was not the case for me. That’s because my favorite band is KISS. Yes, the foursome who told us to “Shout It Out Loud” holds a special place in my heart. But after the poorly lip-synced performance at the closing ceremonies of the Winter Games, it became obvious to me that my rock idols have become so ridiculous that even one of their biggest fans, me, is begging them to call it quits.

Now, let me set this up for you.

I was 12 years old when Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley and Peter Criss entered my life. I was young, impressionable and ready to rock. I snuck up into my brother’s room one summer’s day and saw the album Destroyer on his bed. I figured I’d put it in for a laugh because how good could the dudes who sang “Rock and Roll All Night” actually be?

Well, for the next 34 minutes and 31 seconds, I stared at my brother’s red, white and blue striped wallpaper in sheer disbelief. As I came out of my state of shock, I put my tongue back in my mouth, wiped the drool of my chin and craved more. Where had these guys been all my life?

For the next five or six years, any money I earned or was given went into buying anything KISS. It was so bad that when a special edition magazine devoted to KISS was released, I would buy two copies. One copy would be left intact to read for many years to come, and the other was to take the pictures out of and hang on my bedroom wall. Hey, I said I was a fan.

In 1996, KISS announced a reunion tour. This was a day I never thought would happen. I paid $40 for that concert ticket, and it was the best $40 I had ever spent. A 2 1/2 hour rock spectacle that left me deaf and hoarse for a week. It was pure bliss.

Then, as time went on and KISS was in the public eye more and more, I started to come upon a sad fact. The band I had worshiped through my youth, the guys I had given all my lawn mowing money to, became embarrassing to like.

When did this happen? Had I become such a cynical young man that not even the four rock superheroes that wowed me in my youth could impress my critical mind?

Well, the answer is “no.” The problem wasn’t that my opinions or tastes had changed. The problem was KISS didn’t know when to give it up. That all came to a head as I sat and watched three-fourths (Peter Criss, the drummer, is no longer in the band) of one of the greatest rock bands ever make fools out of themselves in front of a worldwide audience.

This isn’t the first time I’ve rolled my eyes at the four old guys in clown make-up. I accepted it when they released a “reunion” album that didn’t even feature all four original members. I shrugged it off when they took their third drummer and put him in the Catman make-up that belonged to Peter Criss. I even took it with a grain of salt when they released the KISS Koffin that doubles as a cooler. And yes, even when I read that Ace Frehley did not play on all of Destroyer, I forgave them. But I guess on that Sunday night, I realized what others knew long ago … if KISS ever had any musical integrity, it was gone a long time ago.

The only good thing that could have come out of the Olympic performance is that maybe terrorists saw the performance and realized that America is being tortured enough. Their hide-out country might be a parking lot now, but at least they don?t have to put up with 50-year-old guys in body armor playing the same song over and over and over again.

Better yet, instead of sending troops where we suspect the Taliban to be hiding, we should just send KISS over there to play a few shows. I’m sure they’ll surrender and beg for mercy in no time.

All kidding aside, I’ll still listen to my KISS CDs with pride. But I just want them to stop before they hurt themselves. I mean that literally.