Today I’m afraid we must venture into the darker corners of Kenny.
A devoted Kenny fan such as yourself will know that in the last decade Kenny has undergone a series of cosmetic surgeries, turning into a hideous, shiny shell of Kenny. Worse, he has disconnected the goatee portion of his beard from his iconic mane by removing his lustrous Civil War-era muttonchops.
Kenny as a young man never looked quite right. His face was chubby and oafish, and his tawny, sloppily feathered hair made him look like a drunken St. Bernard. No matter how high he climbed on the charts, his unconventional appearance must have haunted him. Yes, Kenny is the closest thing we have to a god. But also a man, with human insecurities.
What Young Kenny could not have known is that as his hair grayed and his features softened with age, his appearance would morph into the PERFECT PHYSICAL REPRESENTATION of his best songs. Kenny became a kindly grandfather, beckoning you to come sit by the fire– let me tell you about a warm summer evenin’, on a train bound for nowhere… about a maimed conscript who didn’t start that crazy Asian war… and then as you dozed off thinking of a time not so long ago, and Kenny’s characters seeded themselves into your dreams, he would quietly excuse himself to go watch Dolly’s titties flop around in the mirror as he reamed her doggstyle in the dressing room of Hee Haw.
But as Kenny aged even further, the young ugly face he used to see in the mirror was still looking back at him. And so even after all his success, millions of albums sold, millions of young country pussies pounded like only Kenny Rogers knew how, he still needed to fix what now wasn’t broke. And we were denied the final and most glorious phase of Kenny: a white-haired celestial wizard, resplendent in sequins and gems, booming from on high to sing us to the very palaces of the gods.
Maybe Kenny sacrificed his face for us. To teach us a lesson. Love yourself. You are a beautiful creature of God, and not all things peak with their first flowering.