One of the savviest hustlers in the history of pop music—he’s given us everything from KISS caskets to comic books to his own reality–TV series—Gene Simmons has had his fingers in a lot of pies over the years. He’s also dabbled in many different business ventures, but who cares about that? As the fire-breathing, blood-spewing, greasepainted KISS bassist has made crystal clear over a 30-year run, his primary obsession is pie. And God knows that when it comes to getting poon, few men on this planet have scored more often.

By his own account, Simmons has managed to bed more than 4,800 women. It’s an even more amazing figure when you consider that the 58-year-old rocker ranks just below professional woodsman Ron Jeremy on the outright-hideous scale.

Not a big subscriber to the theory that gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Simmons has never kept his sexual exploits a secret. Hell, in 2002, he even bragged about his cockmanship on America’s National Public Radio, which admittedly was a welcome change from listening to Ralph Stanley ramble on about his grapefruit-sized prostate or Sigur Rós refusing to discuss, well,  anything. Given that Simmons isn’t exactly the second coming of The Wild One–era Marlon Brando, one might rightly wonder how he does it.

Could it be that women are so desperate to bang a rock star that they’ll jump on the meat pole of someone whose last—and arguably only—decent album was released in 1975? Could it be his impossibly rakish charm, most famously revealed in KISS’s 1992 hit “Domino”, where he growled, “That bitch bends over, and I forget my name”? Or could that famously long tongue of his be good for something other than making Lois Griffin horny on Family Guy?

With Simmons owning the most fantastic trade secret since how they get the caramel in Caramilk bars, imagine the joy that millions of desperately celibate men must have felt late last month when he joined the ranks of Tommy Lee and Paris Hilton as a B-list celebrity sex-tape star. The techniques that have made thousands of women spread their legs were plastered all over the Internet.

The Simmons tape was a revelation, but for all the wrong reasons. The disturbingly paunchy rocker isn’t what you’d call a lady’s man. Forget Barry White—the dude’s idea of mood music is Foreigner. If that’s not unsavoury enough, foreplay consists of the Gene Simmons Family Jewels star licking his fingers, sticking them in ye olde honey pot a couple of times, and then whipping out his Oscar Mayer wiener–sized gherkin. That’s the signal for the pigtailed victim in question to play silicone-pumped Hoover. When the actual fucking begins, his pants are still around his ankles. If you’ve been desperately trying to kick a porn addiction, your extreme therapy starts with this entirely unfit-for-human-eyes exercise in ugliness.

When footage of someone purported to be Meg White riding rod surfaced on the Internet last year, at least the White Stripes’ timekeeper denied being one of the home-porn participants. Her subsequent nervous breakdown, which cancelled all the band’s planned tour dates, was probably just an unfortunate coincidence.

Amazingly, Simmons has not denied that the unsightly pig on the tape is him. The best he offers on his Web site is that the footage was shot long ago without his knowledge. But give the guy props; if he’s looked like a middle-aged horror show since he was 20, his track record with the ladies is even more impressive.

What Simmons is missing out on here, though, is a golden business opportunity to further inflate his bank account. Every desperate Lavalife subscriber with a penis could learn something from the legendary Lothario. As a what-not-to-do-in-the-bedroom guide, Simmons’s sex tape could be bigger than Long Dong Silver. Or at least KISS before it started to suck.