I recently found a copy of The Very Best of Kiss in a friend's CD collection. It was cleverly hidden away at the back of a cupboard, under a stack of magazines, covered by a mountain of blankets, in a bunker ten feet underground and guarded by Alsations. I fought my way through to get to it, and it was worth every scratch, bite and eye-gouge. Although the dogs may not think so.
The immortal songs are now in my iPod. There have been some close calls out in public when I feel the irrepressible need to pump the air with my fist or sing falsetto, but I have managed to restrain myself. Thus far.